


The Impossible Kid

by B4S1LB0Y, wallaceandvomit



Series: The Catalyst [3]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, mcyt
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Depression, Drug Use, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Family Dynamics, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Nonbinary Character, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:13:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 38,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29326803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B4S1LB0Y/pseuds/B4S1LB0Y, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallaceandvomit/pseuds/wallaceandvomit
Summary: Tommy hails from a broken household. He's spent his adolescent years watching his family and friends become people he didn't know. Amidst clouds of smoke and pools of booze, he has the sobering realization that he's changing, too. Maybe, far from home and the things that hurt, he can force himself to stunt his growth.tommy-centric sbi family angst stuff!! inspired by Aesop Rock's album The Impossible Kid
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Sapnap & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Series: The Catalyst [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2074899
Comments: 188
Kudos: 604





	1. true friendship in a tugboat way

The summer between sophomore and junior year was the sun, hot and bright and all alone. Tommy spent his days sleeping in and his nights numbing himself with Dream, Sapnap, and George.

On the days all three were busy, he would sit in his room and blast music through his headphones. He would listen to anything fast and loud and spend hours well into the night playing CS:GO, Minecraft, or Rust. He played with strangers. He didn’t have anyone to play with.

A few times, Phil offered to drive him to the beach or the mall, wherever he wanted. Tommy never took him up on the offer. He would say he didn’t feel like it, which was the truth, but he also couldn’t find it in him to trust that his father would be sober while they drove.

A month into the summer, he found himself sweating and crying on the sticky, cold tiles of his bathroom. It was just all too much and nothing at all. His chest hurt, he’d been wearing his binder far too long, but he couldn’t find the strength in him to take it off. His breath caught in his throat, he choked on a sob, he gripped his hair tighter. His face felt like static, his hands following suit, and he could barely hear his own crying over the roaring in his ears. Phil wasn’t even home. It was a Saturday, he should have been, but he wasn’t. He screamed in frustration, which quieted into a sob, and eventually subsided to sniffles.

He missed Tubbo more than anything. It didn’t matter how much attention the Dream Team paid him, how much guilt money Phil spent on him, he felt entirely alone.

With a running nose that was wiped against the back of his wrist, he grabbed his phone off the bathroom counter.

The phone rang for what felt like an eternity, each sound jarring and making his stomach twist.

Tubbo didn’t pick up.

“Hi, this is Tubbo Dahlberg, I can’t come to the phone right now, but if you leave a message, I’ll call you back!”

Tommy swallowed the venom in his throat. Listened for the beep.

“Hello, Tubbo. I… I know we haven’t spoken in a while. I know it’s because I was being an asshole. I just- I can’t-“ He took a deep, shaky breath, “I can’t keep doing this, Tubbo. I miss you t-too much. I feel like if we keep avoiding each other my fuckin’ head’s gonna explode. I- I want to be your friend again. I understand if you… if you don’t want that. Just p-please let me know, okay? I just want to talk. I miss you, big T. I love you.”

He hung up. Held his breath for a moment, then let out a sob. His phone started ringing.

“H- Hello?” He tried to clear his throat.

“Hey, Tommy?” Tubbo’s voice was guarded.

“Um, yeah, w-what’s up?”

“I was just calling back, I saw I missed a call from you. What were you calling about?”

Tommy hesitated. “Can you meet me at the head of the Wildwood trails?”

He heard Tubbo think it over, caution holding them close. “Um… like, now?”

“Yeah, in like ten minutes.”

“…I suppose so, yes.”

“Great. I’ll see you there.” Tommy hung up, his heart racing and a grin pushing to the front of his face. He felt as though he discovered an oasis in the heart of a desert. The arid air of summer vacation thus far gave way to shimmering waters. They were cool, they were his savior, but they were still out of his reach. A mere ten minute walk away. Respite was on the horizon.

He ruffled his hair in the mirror, splashed cool water in his face, made sure Tubbo wouldn't be able to tell he was crying. When he finished with grabbing himself a bottle of Coke from the fridge, and lacing up his sneakers, he didn't bother to text Phil or leave a note explaining where he'd be.

Phil wouldn't notice, anyways.

Tommy was already sweating by the time he reached their meeting spot, Californian June be damned. He wiped his forehead and stood around as he waited for his ex-friend, waited for the end of his drought. The excitement he felt almost dampened the pain in his ribs.

Fundy’s car pulled up a few minutes later and Tubbo got out, giving their brother a short wave before he drove off. They turned to look at Tommy, face muted and confused.

“Hello,” they greeted, standing a dozen feet away. They put their hands in their pockets.

"Tubbo!" Tommy shoved his hands in the pockets of his shorts, otherwise he didn't know if he'd be able to stop himself from hugging Tubbo.  
"Hey. I, uh… well, this was pretty impulsive!" He admitted, with a laugh. "But... can we please talk?"

Tubbo watched him for a moment, then nodded and started walking along the trail, expecting him to follow. They pulled a box mod out of the pocket of their jeans and took a hit as they walked, white vapour billowing out of their mouth like clouds.  
“What d’you want to talk about?”

Tommy strolled along with them. He watched, too, and quirked an eyebrow. "Since when did you vape?"

A frown tugged at their lips and they took another hit. “Quite frankly, that is none of your business.”

"Hey, man, I'm in no place to judge." He revealed his own dab pen, cart half-empty. "I'm not super familiar with that make- that nicotine or weed?" He once again followed their lead, taking a hit and letting the vapor billow out with a gentle sigh.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Tubbo said, abrupt and final as they put it back in their pocket. “I asked what you wanted me here for.”

Tommy pressed his lips into a thin line. "You," he admitted. "Not in that way! Not in that way. I just... I miss you a lot. I miss our friendship- life has fucking sucked without you, quite honestly, and I was hoping we could make amends?" He was putting up a brave front, willing his voice to not waver, but inside he could feel every nerve shoot anxiety through his body.

They watched the ground as they walked, bending down to pick up a pebble. “We? I don’t think I have anything to make amends for.”

"Well... you kinda abandoned me at a really bad time." He took another hit, and in a moment of reflection: "but that's pretty much my fault too, huh? Look, Tubbo, I'm... really sorry things got as bad as they did. I... I shouldn't have..." his vision went blurry with wet eyes, and he chuckled, wiping at them. "I'm sorry. Give me a second."

Tubbo watched him, lips pursed and eyes unamused. “I have something to say about what you just said, but continue.”

"No, you first. I wanna address all your concerns, you know," he waved a hand, motioning for them to go on.

They hesitated, then looked down at the pebble in their hand. “You realise it’s shitty to say I abandoned you, don’t you? Abandoned? I needed time to let myself heal and get my energy back after being your… your fucking emotional support animal for three years straight. I’m sorry you were going through a hard time, but it’s not like my life was peachy. Eret lost her job a week after we stopped talking. Fundy and I had to get part time jobs, and we still barely scraped by on rent. This is the problem with you, Tommy. You think no one else in the world has ever faced anything as horrible as what you’ve been through.”

"I know, I know! I'm..." he felt his heart grow dizzy at their confessions of hardship, "I'm sorry Tubbo. I've never been good with thinking through what I say before I say it."

He took another hit so that he could.

"Look, I recognize that I wasn't a good friend. It was wrong of me to use you. Super wrong. And I regret having never been able to support you, to have been there for you when you needed me. Circumstances caught up to me, and I felt miserable, and I took it out on you. I can't even imagine how awful I must've made you feel." He paused, partially to see if Tubbo would say anything in response, partially so he could inhale just a little bit more from his pen.

Tubbo watched him, then tossed the pebble off into the brush. “Okay,” they said, a sign to continue.

"I miss you a lot, though. I really do. A lot of my happiest memories are with you- and you made even the shittiest ones bearable. I've just... been reflecting for a while. And I think I'm in a place where we can be friends again. I hope I am. I promise I'm gonna be better to you- and if I'm not, you have my full permission to smack me." He took a shaky inhale, putting his vape back in his pocket. "If you don't want to see me anymore though, if... if you don't want me back as a friend, then that's... fine. But I strongly urge you to consider it. Pretty please?"

For a moment, they were quiet, dark brown eyes on his lighter blue.  
“You said I could smack you?”

Tommy stopped in his tracks.

"Yes. Why, would you like to?" He was already brushing hair from his face in preparation. Tommy had gotten in a fair few scuffles as of late, including wrestles with the Dream Team. He was pretty sure a slap or two or ten from Tubbo would be nothing.

They hesitated, then slapped him with their palm as hard as they could. Tubbo watched a red mark form on his cheek, then they rushed him into a hug, pulling him close and burying their face under his chin.  
“I missed you too. I don’t hate you but I should.”

Tommy sucked air in through his teeth to deal with the sting. He thought of Wilbur, who put money over family but provided Tommy with understanding. He thought of Technoblade, who never knew his limits, but would kill the world for Tommy. Maybe he should hate both of them, and oftentimes he did, but he missed them more than anything.

"Boy, have I been there, done that. I'm sorry again, Tubbo," his scrappy arms pulled them closer, and he blinked away tears. He'd never felt more at-home than he did in the moment.

Tubbo held onto him tighter, squeezing their eyes shut to keep tears back. “Can we go to your house?”

"Yeah," he nodded, chin rubbing against their scalp. "No one's home. Uh, actually, Techno and Wil both got kicked out, so it's just me and dad these days. And dad isn't even around that often anyways."

They pulled away to look up at him. “What? Why? Techno overdosed earlier this year, shouldn’t he be safe at home with you guys?”

"He was doin' heroin, and dad didn't want that around, I guess," he huffed. "Dad's... dad started drinking. So he hasn't been super smart as of late. Tech ended up moving in with some guy he barely knew, but I met the kid, you know. He passes the vibe check," he smirked, and turned to start going back the way they came.

Tubbo ignored the lump in their throat and the pit in their stomach. “I’m sorry,” they mumbled, “that’s awful.”

"It's whatever. Oh, were you around for figurin' out the whole Wilbur coke thing, too?" Tommy's tone was casual, almost entertained.

They looked up at him, eyes wide. “Like cocaine?”

"Yeah! So dad's drinking, Wilbur's on cocaine, and Techno's doing heroin now." He was unwarrantedly cheery, talking on the light side of everything so he could handle it, before his eyes widened. "Shit! I'm doing it again! Using you like a therapist- I'm sorry, man. You got anything to share? To even our score?"

Tubbo hesitated. “I… I dunno. I’m sorry your family’s being shit. Eret got a new job, and she’s been working really hard. She’s been gone most of the time.” They were quiet for a while. “Fundy and I are still sharing a room, even though our dad moved up to Atlanta again. He made a rule that no one’s allowed in his room.”  
As they crossed the threshold of the trail head back onto the pavement, Tubbo watched the ground below their feet.  
“I found where Fundy keeps his Adderall. I just wanted to know what it was like.” They pulled the hem of their shirt out of their jeans to show a large, purple, blooming bruise on their ribs. “He gave me this.”

"Shit, man," his eyebrows lowered on his face. "Want me to beat him up for you?" It was only partially a joke.

“No,” they muttered, tucking their shirt back in and pulling the vape out of their pocket again. “He bought me this so I wouldn’t tell Eret. So, I’ve somewhat forgiven him.” They offered a cheeky grin up at their friend as they took a hit.

"Smart, the good ol' blackmail trick," he mirrored their smile. "How... how was the Adderall?"

They thought for a moment. “It was nice. Euphoric. I’d be up for doing it again, but Schlatt said he won’t sell to me until I’m eighteen.”

"Damn that Schlatt. You know, I could probably get him to sell to me, maybe. Or, I could buy through, like, George." A few beats of silence passed, before he snorted. "Man, we sure have changed. This is hilarious! Finally link back up and immediately start offering to buy each other pills."

Tubbo snorted a laugh. “That’s not good, is it?”

"Maybe not, but it's funny. You're not mad about it, though, are you? We can totally drop it, if so."

They shrugged. “I just figured you weren’t much for pills, because of… y’know.”

"I mean... it's sorta hard to die via Adderall, isn't it?" The trails were only a short walk from home, and already, the Watson household was coming into view. Tommy was right, there were no cars in the driveway.

They laughed a little. “It’s probably not hard at all, you know it’s a chemical sister of meth, don’t you?”

"Oh, really? Huh. I thought- you know, since it's so common... huh." He shrugged. "Shows you what I know! Yeah. Please don't overdose, Tubbo. That'd be, like, my third brother, and I'm really not trying to start a collection, here."

Tubbo was quiet as they went inside the house, their fingers tingling a little at the familiarity of the place. “I won’t,” they said, “promise.”

The house was silent, and a little messier than Tubbo remembered. "Good. So, am I allowed to ask if that vape's nicotine or weed now?" he pointed to Tubbo's pocket.

“It’s nic,” they said, “I’m not a fan of weed. It feels too similar to when I zone out.” Tubbo pulled the box mod out again and offered it to Tommy. “You can try it, if you like. It’s pretty strong, though.”

Tommy was already pretty familiar with nicotine vapes, but missed sharing food and drinks and laughs with Tubbo. This felt similar enough, so he took it from them. "Do you drink at all?" he asked, before taking a hit. He was startled by how strong it was.

“No,” they mumbled as they took it back from him and headed up the stairs to his bedroom. “I don’t wanna be like Schlatt.”

"I get it, man. You don't mind... if I do though, do you? I really don't drink all that often, just around friends and if I'm really down." The AC was kind to their sweaty skin, and Tommy's room in particular was quite cold. He shut the door behind them, and set about cleaning some of the mess on his floor.

Tubbo stared at him as they hovered just inside the doorway. “You drink when you’re depressed?”

"What? No. I dunno what you're talking about," he deflected, a smile coming to his face. "It's fine, seriously. So what do you wanna do?"

They hesitated a moment, then sat on his bed. “Could we just watch a show and cuddle or something? I haven’t really… I dunno. Ranboo is nice but he’s very bony, you know? I miss… I miss cuddling with you.”

Tommy spoke with a voice as though he were talking to a dog. "Aw, Tubbo missed cuddling with me?"  
He grinned wide, then sat beside Tubbo. "Yeah, man, of course." He pulled Tubbo closer, into his arms. "I'm glad you've had Ranboo all this time. I really am."

Tubbo hummed in agreement and wriggled around a little, pulling him closer and wrapping their limbs around him. “He’s nice. I’ve missed you, though.”

Tommy fell back so they were laying down. "I've missed you too. Dream and those guys... they're not really cuddlers." A pause. "Well, they are, just not... to me. Understandable, they're cool seniors 'n all that. Grads, now. Damn."

They nodded and pressed their head into his chest.  
“We’re gonna be juniors next year, huh? All the old people are gonna move on, it’s just gonna be us, Ranboo, and Purpled.”

"Well, as far as I know, lots of people are staying in town for like, another year at least, probably." He brought a hand up to their hair, raking his fingers through. "But in school, yeah... that's gonna be really weird."

“I mean, I know Fundy’s going to the community college before he does a four year. Maybe other people would too?” Tubbo suggested, letting themself relax in his arms.

"Yeah, most likely. Have you started using new shampoo?"

Tubbo nodded. “Mhm. Switched to a type that a girl at the farmer’s market makes. It’s custom ‘n everything.”

"It feels softer than I remember. What's in it?" Tommy smiled, even if they couldn't see it. He missed this.

“Um, lemme think… “ they trailed off, pulling away to stare at his ceiling and take a hit of their vape. “She makes it with hemp tea tree Dr. Bronner’s and adds something like, rosemary olive oil and stuff. She taught me how to make my own conditioner out of avocados and oatmeal and honey and stuff.”

"Incredible. You know what I use?"

They shuddered and narrowed their eyes at him. “If you say two in one, I’m actually going to go home.”

"Well it totally isn't that, then," Tommy's face nearly split in two from how wide he was grinning.

Tubbo made a noise of disgust and shrunk away from him. “You’re cis, you’re cis!”

"Oh God, don't say that!" Tommy shouted, before breaking out into violent cackles. "No, I don't use two-in-one. I do use Head and Shoulders, though."

“Why didn’t you just say that? That’s fine!” They laughed.

"Because I like spooking you," he grabbed them and pulled them closer once more, "now come here."

They smiled and pushed against his chest with their head, letting out a content sigh. “Can we watch a show or something?”

"Right, I forgot." Tommy reached lazily to his bedside table, and took the remote. He flickered on the TV for the first time in months, and was shocked when he got to the Netflix screen. The only two profiles listed were 'Dad' and 'Toms.' "Well, shit. Dad took them off Netflix and everything."

Tubbo grimaced. “That’s mean.”

"Yeah, well... Tech's got a job, I think, and Wilbur's boyfriend is loaded or something." He selected his profile, and began scrolling through. "Is there anything you wanna watch?"

They hummed. “Could we watch The Office again? Skip the first episode, though?”

"Oh, fuck yeah, I haven't watched this show in a bit."

When the theme song came on, he was thrown back to simpler times. Memories of seventh grade, wrapped up together in a blanket on a snow day, danced across his memory. At the time, they had just finished watching the show all the way through for the first time together. Now, they were starting their fifth watch-through.

“Who d’you think I’m most like in The Office?” Tubbo asked.

Tommy hesitated. "Maybe Pam? Dunno. You're kinda hard to categorize."

They thought it over for a moment. “Okay, I see that. You’re Andy, but you want to be Jim.”

Tommy gawked. "What? What?! No, take it back."

“No, I’m right. You wish you were Jim. You’re Andy through and through and you know it.” Tubbo shook their head.

"I'm not listening to you anymore. All I hear is Michael Scott and his voice is oh-so-nice."

“You think Michael’s voice is nice?” Tubbo laughed a little. “You have such shit taste in everything, man.”

"You have a shit taste in vapes. Seriously, what flavor was that?"

“It’s not flavored. I’m not a pussy.” Tubbo huffed.

"Yeah, you are. You're such a pussy you can't stand a little pizzazz. Where's the personality? Where's the excitement?" he jeered.

“You named yourself Tommy and you wear blue jeans and blank t-shirts. You have literally no space to speak on personality.” Tubbo laughed.

"What's wrong with Tommy?!" his jaw went slack.

“Your brother named himself Technoblade. You don’t see how one is more interesting than the other?”

"It's interesting because it was a DND character's name first. I'm not about to name myself Balgoroth the Third or something stupid like that. I like Tommy just fine, thank you very much."

They shrugged. “You also use Head and Shoulders. And Axe. And you have America’s most popular boy’s haircut right now. And your room doesn’t have any decoration other than an Ed Sheeran poster and some Funko Pops.”

Tommy pressed his lips in a thin line. "I really don't like your attitude, Tubbo. At least I don't have a bowl cut."

“I don’t have a bowl cut, I haven’t for three years. I have a wolf cut, I’ll have you know. And I have plants in my room, and I wear handmade sweaters and I know how to make mead from scratch. I am statistically more interesting than you.”

"You make mead? I thought you didn't drink?"

“I helped Ranboo make it for his chemistry class last year and I liked it so I’ve been playing around with it. I’ve made lavender, cherry, and blackberry mead now. You missed out on a lot of the Tubbo mead arc.”

"...But you don't drink it?" Tommy tilted his head. He had completely stopped paying attention to the show at this point.

They shrugged. “I like tasting it. I give most of it to Eret, though. She likes it the most out of anyone. Her favorite is the blackberry.”

"What if she's just drinking it to make you feel better? What if it's actually shit?" he joked.

“Eret has a very sensitive palate. She wouldn’t do that.” Tubbo insisted.

"Maybe she has bad taste too. Actually, what would you say if I drank your blackberry mead and ended up loving it?" he proposed. "Now, think this through very carefully. You're either admitting I have good taste, or you're admitting your mead sucks."

“Even if you have shit taste, you’d like my mead. With Wilbur as your brother, I bet you’d like any alcohol I gave you.” Tubbo grumbled.

Tommy gasped. "You're an asshole." He didn't mean it, of course. In fact, he couldn't be happier, falling into the familiar bickering with Tubbo.

They huffed a small laugh. “On that subject,” they began, “where is Phil? Doesn’t he have the weekends off?”

"He does. He's out drinking, probably. He has a few buddies and they'll all go together. One of them is Karl's uncle, actually."

Tubbo pulled their lips tight trying not to frown. “I’m sorry.”

"It's really whatever." He memorized the feeling of them in his arms, worried he'd lose it again. He looked down and buried his face in their scalp, smelling all the notes Tubbo mentioned about the farmer's market shampoo. He remembered, this is why Tubbo was his best friend.

He wondered why he had ever let them drift apart.

After a while, Tubbo fell asleep in his arms, their chest gently rising and falling as they slept.

Tommy looked down at them with a fondness that felt so profound.

This was what made it all worth it, he decided. He never wanted to leave his room, his bed, his Tubbo.

He couldn't even be bothered to feel the dread he usually did when he heard the front door open after another hour or two of watching The Office. He listened as Phil went down the hall, and straight to his own room without so much as a "hello" to his son.

Tommy fell asleep, too. Tubbo made it easy.


	2. mutiny, or footage for your blooper reel? who can tell?

Junior year was a bore, made up of studying for what Tommy thought were useless tests and spending empty days in the house with his father. He missed hearing Wilbur's guitar strums from the other end of the hall. He missed hearing Technoblade's keyboard clacks into the early hours of the morning. He missed, he missed, he missed. He even missed hanging out with the Dream Team. They still saw each other at least twice a month, but it was nothing compared to the way they used to spend nearly every day with each other. The more Dream and George cozied up to each other, the more the dynamics for the whole group shifted.

All Tommy really had was Tubbo.

And sure, there were some evenings where Tubbo preferred Ranboo's company over Tommy's; Tommy would be invited along, of course, but his own stubbornness and isolation kept him away, locked and stewing in his room. Ranboo was pleasant enough, by all means, they should have gotten along. Tommy was just rotten. Rotting, rotted, rotten. One day he supposed he could befriend Ranboo, and they'd be on good terms, and Tommy could accompany him and Tubbo and they could be the Three Musketeers. In all honesty, however, Tommy wondered who would get jealous first when that time came. Who would give in and cause an eventual rift? He saw it happening with Dream, George, and Sapnap, little by little.

The days Tommy and Tubbo spent together, though, were the best days of Tommy's life. Sometimes they'd get buzzed on nicotine, or high and drunk in Tommy's case. Sometimes, though, they'd go the day sober. Maybe just one or two hits from Tubbo's vape, and that would be all, and Tommy would find himself content. It was reassuring, he could tell Technoblade and Wilbur that they were wrong. He wasn't an addict, he could deal just fine without all that nonsense. He just needed something else to fill in the gaps. Tubbo was an excellent distraction.

Junior year was terrible. It was no good. But Tommy had Tubbo, and a flask, and his very own car. He sometimes hung out with Wilbur, or Dream and George and Sapnap, and he even found himself making acquaintances with Purpled again. He found it in himself to be social, because he wasn't very book smart, and he wasn't a very good son. At the very least, he could be a good friend. He could make those he associated with laugh, he could make them double over and wipe their eyes and make their sides hurt. He could make them love him for his jokes and quips and wits, and really, that's what kept him going. Not any sort of promise he made to Technoblade ages ago, not the prospect of missing Tubbo- he had already been through that pain and he knew he could withstand it again- no. He kept going for his own reputation. Even if he did think about how easy it would be to jump off a bridge and hit his head on the rocks below every other night, he knew he would never actually do it. Self-restraint wasn't something often associated with Tommy, but for once it was his saving grace. Whenever he spiraled down into those suicidal thoughts once more, he'd simply boot up his computer and play video games until his hands cramped and his eyes burned. By then, his brain would be so blurred with fiction that he would pass right out, and wake up numb.

This was the junior year routine.

The week that junior year ended, Tommy found himself in Tubbo's bedroom. He shut the door behind them, feeling the bass reverberating through the handle. Subwoofers in the living room blared loud enough for the whole house to hear. He supposed that's just what happened when you had no dad around to bust any parties you threw.

Tommy fell back on Tubbo's bed, and sighed. His hood circled his head like a halo. Baby blue eyes glanced over at his best friend, and a smirk made way to his face. "Shit. Fundy really knows how to throw a rager, huh?"

Tubbo nodded and rolled over to press themself against Tommy. “This is your first one, huh?”

"Officially? Yes. But there was that one when we were freshmen, and he just sorta... forgot that we were here. Does that count? We weren't really partying, more just hiding in your room the whole time," his arm snaked around Tubbo.

They huffed a laugh at that, but it was cut off as Tommy’s hand grazed their ribs. “Ah-“ they hissed through their teeth, “don’t touch there.”

He hummed. "Why not?" He respected their wishes, and his hand moved from the spot, but he was still curious.

“Just- stuff.” They mumbled, curling in on themself a bit more.

"Yeah? What kind of stuff?" he pushed further.

They hesitated, shifting away from him. “I accidentally ran into the kitchen counter the other day.”

"Isn't that the sorta thing people say when they're abused?" Tommy joked.

“Can you drop it?” Tubbo ordered, head snapping around to glare at him.

Tommy gave a small 'oh,' before his brows knit together. "Wait, Tubbo, are you being abused?"

“No, I’m not fucking being abused! God, this is why I didn’t want you to come over today!” They insisted, their fists balling.

Tommy huffed. "The way I recall it, you were practically begging me to come."

“Yeah, because Ranboo couldn’t make it!” They shouted, before their eyes went wide at what they had said. “I- I didn’t mean that.”

His arm immediately recoiled from Tubbo. "Woah, woah now. What? What did you just say?"

Tubbo backed away from him a little. “I just- I- Ranboo wanted to come, because it would’ve been his first high school party, but he couldn’t make it, so Fundy said I could invite someone else.”

"... Jesus, mate. I was literally just trying to make sure you're alright." He sat up. "I can leave if you really want me to."

“I don’t! I don’t want you to leave, Tommy, I’m sorry. You just- I don’t wanna talk about the counter thing. I’m sorry I snapped at you, really, I am.”

"Mm, no, if you don't tell me what's wrong I might just leave anyways," he suggested, while standing.

“There’s nothing wrong, Tommy. Please don’t leave.” Tubbo took one of Tommy’s hands in their own.

Tommy stopped in his movements, and looked over at them with puppy dog eyes. "You won't even tell me if I ask you really nicely, with a 'pretty please?'"

“There’s nothing to tell you.” Tubbo insisted, voice a whisper. “I walked into the kitchen counter.”

Tommy groaned, and sat back down, leaning against them. "Hey, Tubbo?"

They sighed and leaned into him, letting their eyes slip shut. “Yeah?”

"Can I see the spot? I just wanna make sure it's not bruising."

Tubbo hesitated, then nodded. They pulled away and sat up, moving the straps of their overalls off and lifting their shirt up. The bruise stretched from the centre of their ribs to the side of them, purple and yellow blooming in a shape suspiciously reminiscent of a shoe.  
“It’s only bruising a little bit.”

Tommy grimaced. "Have you been putting ice on it, at all?" Tubbo shook their head. "Okay, can I go grab you an ice pack really quick?" He ghosted a finger over the mark, looking at it closer. He was trying to age it, based on his own experiences with how bruises looked as days passed.

Their breath hitched at the contact and they wormed away. “No, Fundy will be suspicious.”

Tommy put the puzzle pieces together. "Alright. Hey, you remember that first day we started talking again, yeah?"

They tucked the hem of their shirt back into their overalls again. “What about it?”

"Fundy gave you a nasty bruise then, too, didn't he?"

Tubbo stilled, their shoulders tensing. “He… gave me the one back then.”

"Tubbo, we've been best friends for ages now. I can tell when you're lying," he scolded.

They averted their gaze to their lap. “I don’t want to talk about this, Tommy.”

"Okay, okay," he huffed, and settled back down. He felt his skull thud behind his temple. "Are we gonna cuddle again, or what?"

For a moment, they stayed still, thinking something over. “Do you want to try something?”

Tommy quirked an eyebrow, nerves stirring in his gut. "Depends on what."

“Something that you can’t tell anyone about. Especially not Schlatt.” They said.

"Okay, I promise I will not tell anyone about this mystery thing. Especially not Schlatt," he parroted.

Tubbo got off the bed and fetched a Bible off the bookshelf. When they sat at the bed again, they opened it, revealing a cut out hiding space. Inside was a small bag of white powder, a mirror, and a short metal straw.  
They looked Tommy in the eyes to see his reaction.

Tommy's jaw dropped to the floor. He stuttered for a few moments, before he could speak. "Wait, what is that?"

“I stole it from Schlatt. You know what it is.” Tubbo let a toothy grin peek through their lips, wild eyes shining behind their shaggy bangs.

"Is that- is that coke?" He pointed a finger to it. "And you hid it in- in the Bible?"

Tubbo let out a little giggle. “It’s a little funny, to be fair.”

"... Okay," he chuckled along with them, "maybe a little. Yeah. But- Jesus," Tommy swallowed. "I, uh..." he knew he wouldn't get addicted. He wasn't like his brothers. He was different. "... Have you used it before? Or were you waiting for me?"

“I’ve done it a couple times,” they said, pulling their wallet out to fetch a credit card. “Do you want to?”

"This is a big bomb you're dropping on me, man," he gave a small laugh. He was already fuzzy-minded, warm from beer and dazed from pot. His judgement clouded. "But yeah, why not?"

Their grin split wider. Tubbo tapped some out on the mirror and cut it into a line with the credit card. “Alright, d’you know how?”

"It's just like... you breathe it in through your nose, yeah?" His guts turned at the sight of how rehearsed Tubbo's movements appeared, and Tommy wasn't sure if it was out of excitement or disappointment. Most likely, it was a mix of both.

“You gotta really sniff,” they said, “here, watch me before you do it.” They exhaled through their mouth, then leaned forward and snorted the line. Pinching their nostrils shut and tilting their head up, they waited a second, then grinned and shook their head excitedly.  
“Okay, now you try. I’m gonna give you a smaller line, just in case you don’t like it.” They said, already going about cutting another line as Tommy watched their eyes dilate.

Tommy took a hold of the straw, watching them work at cutting.

He felt like Wilbur. He wondered what Wilbur would think- he would probably say some bullshit like "didn't I say drinking is where it started?" Tommy scowled to himself, and rubbed at his cheek to pull himself from his budding negative thoughts.

Tommy leaned forward once they were finished, and mirrored their performance. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but the powder traveling through his nasal cavity felt rather invasive. He spluttered, and coughed- his throat was already raw from smoke, and this did nothing to help. Soon enough, though, he recovered.

"Wow. I just did cocaine," he acknowledged, nodding slowly.

“How do you feel?” Tubbo asked, their eyes blown wide behind the curtain of their bangs.

"I don't think it's kicked in just yet?" He was a little nervous. What if he ended up not feeling it at all? He recognized that was a dumb anxiety, but relief didn't set in until he realized he was no longer thinking straight. Novel waves of warmth passed through him, from his toes to his scalp.

“Your eyes just went really big,” Tubbo laughed. “Did it kick in?”

Tommy shook his head yes. "Holy shit, Tubbo." He set his hands down on his thighs, and ran them up and down the rough fabric of his jeans. The pants felt strangely ticklish under the thick skin of his palms. He felt hot, happy, and stupid.

“Do you wanna go back to the party and dance?”

"Aw, no more cuddling?" Tommy gave a joking pout, but did feel significantly more touchy-feely than usual. Maybe dancing would suffice, he thought, as he stood.

Tubbo grinned and took his hand, shoving the Bible under their bed and pulling him out into the living room.

Tommy was only vaguely familiar with the artist Fundy was playing, Die Antwoord. George was a fan of them, he knew, and he could sort of recognize the track playing. Something about bananas.

He paid the people around him no mind, as his head began moving side to side, shoulders shifting with it. He just had to move, he needed to move.

Tubbo took his hands and started dancing faster, spinning with him every now and then. They sang along with the lyrics, their eyes shining in the black light and LEDs.

Tommy couldn't register the words of the song. He felt his lungs collapsing from the exertion, not to mention the fact that he would rather be caught dead than without his binder at a public event like this. Coupled with the blunt hits and coke, his chest was crying out in protest- but, Tommy felt incredible. He really could just ignore the pain, letting his body jive to the rhythm, jostle the people around him.  
Above all, he kept an iron grip on Tubbo, who he didn't dare stop smiling at. "Woo!" he started jumping. Tubbo grinned and whooped too, jumping along with him.

“Shit, Tommy, what’re you doin’ here?” Sapnap was suddenly beside them, eyes half-lidded with a blunt in hand.

Tommy blinked a few times, then started laughing. What a silly question. "I'm hanging out with Tubbo! What are you doing here? Are Dream and George...?" He shouted over the music.

“Nah, I’m here with Karl and Big Q! Dream and George are in Malibu.” He said. “Make sure you don’t drink too much man, keep drinkin’ water.” He gave a little thumbs up.

Tommy whistled. "You three on a hot date?" he teased.

Sapnap flushed red. “Heh, I mean, I guess. Just stay safe, alright, man? Go easy on the drinkin’.” He offered a half wave and sauntered off.

Tubbo narrowed their eyes at him. “What was that all about?”

"What do you mean?" he tilted his head at Tubbo. "Was just saying hey to him."

“No, I mean, he kept telling you not to drink too much. Have you been drinking more recently?”

"Huh? No, not really, he's just a good person and all that," he explained.

They stared at him, brows furrowed in agitation. “You’re lying to me.”

"You were lying to me earlier, too. Tit for tat," Tommy shrugged, not bothering to deny it.

For a moment, Tubbo just stood still, tensed. A few eyes darted over at the sound of them slapping him. Tommy's head moved to the side with the force, and he scoffed, putting a hand to his cheek, rubbing at the spot. A moment passed by with Tommy gawking at Tubbo, before he slapped them back.

“Hey!” Fundy shouted, storming over and shoving Tommy away. “What the fuck is wrong with you, punk?!”

“It’s fine! Fundy, don’t touch him!” Tubbo insisted, grabbing their brother by the arm and trying to pull him back.

"Oh!" Tommy's eyes fixed on Fundy. He was wondering when he'd get a chance to talk to him. "I could ask you the same thing!" Tommy straightened up, standing tall and not losing his footing.

“Tommy.” Tubbo levelled a serious look at him.

“Yeah? The fuck do you think you’re doing putting your hands on my brother?” Fundy snarled as he stepped closer, fists balled at his side.

Tommy saw red. Fundy's hypocrisy set off a scathing flame in his belly, so much so that he didn't bother to give a verbal response. Instead, his hand balled to a fist, and he carried through with a right hook. Punching Fundy- it was a savage feeling. But it felt good. It felt right, Tommy realized, as he grew even more giddy at the prospect of a fight.

What Tommy learned quickly was that Fundy was not a fair fighter. He grabbed Tommy’s hair and yanked his face down into his knee, then took the opportunity to shove him onto the floor. He got in a few solid kicks and stomps against Tommy’s chest before he was torn away, Sapnap holding him back with his arms looped under his armpits.

“Chill, man! It’s fine! You’re fine, dude, you’re fine,” Sapnap insisted, pulling the kicking and growling man away from the two teenagers. 

Tommy hacked a wheezing cough, pushing himself from the floor into a sitting position. "Shit, man! You're an ass!" He scrambled up. His decision-making skills were still foggy, so despite Sapnap holding Fundy at bay, he approached and punched the party's host in the gut.

Tubbo grabbed him around the waist and pulled him back. “Stop it, both of you!” They shouted.

“Punz, can you get Tommy out of here?” Sapnap requested, looking to the only other fairly strong person in the party.

Punz sighed, and handed his cup to the girl he had been talking to. "Yeah, yeah. Come on, Tommy," he came up to the younger and started to tug at his arm.

"What?" Tommy's mouth shut, opened, and shut again, before he finally spoke. "Come on! Sapnap, guys...."

"Don't wanna hear it, kid," Punz yanked at him once more. "Quit causing problems."

"Tubbo?" Tommy looked to his friend with pleading eyes. Tubbo watched as Punz pulled him out the front door, their brows furrowed and their eyes dark.

"Alright, did you drive here?" Punz asked outside, once Tommy stopped struggling.

"...No. Tubbo picked me up."

"Well, you'd better find a way home."

Tommy could probably just walk back to his house, fall asleep in his bed, pretend tonight never happened. That would be the smartest solution. But, once again, he felt like being dumb. He pulled his phone out. "Okay, I got it. Are you just gonna watch me, or?"

"I will, if you're just gonna try and sneak back in," Punz deadpanned.

Tommy snorted. "Voyeur."

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing, big man, nothing," he raised one hand in defense, while bringing the phone to his ear. He smiled when the other end picked up. "Wilbur?"

“TommyInnit.” Wilbur’s response came dry but familiar.

"Would you, perchance, be busy right about now?"

He hummed through the line. “It’s two in the morning, Toms.”

"It sure is, and I just got kicked out of a house party," he grinned. Punz rolled his eyes.

A light chuckle. “God, you’re awful. We’ll leave now. Where are you?”

"Tubbo's house!"

“Tubbo’s house? Alright, you’re explaining when we get there. Should be about thirty-two minutes, says the sat-nav.”

"The sat-nav? The fuck is a sat-nav?"

“GPS. I need to take you back to England one of these days.” Wilbur sighed.

"I'd be down," he shrugged. "Alright, well, I'm gonna hang up now. Bye bye."

“Bye.”

Wilbur left the passenger’s side of the Tesla when they got there, pulling Tommy into a hug. He reeked of wine.  
“Hey, Toms. C’mon, let’s go.”

"Hello, Wilby," Tommy hugged back. Punz groaned, looking up from his phone. He had appointed himself as Tommy's babysitter, to make sure the teen wouldn't try to get back into the party.

"Finally. Don't let him tell you he beat Fundy up. He hardly got to him."

"Hey!" Tommy shot a glare at Punz. "I got some good licks in."

"Whatever. Have fun," Punz waved the two off, before disappearing back inside through the front door.

“Fundy?” Wilbur raised an eyebrow, draping an arm over his shoulders as they went back to the car and got into the back seats.

“Hiya, Tommy,” Wilbur’s boyfriend greeted with a wave.

"Hello," Tommy clicked his seatbelt, before leaning his head into his brother's shoulder. He wondered if Wilbur would notice the state of his pupils, wondered if they were still big. "I'm sorry- long night. What's your name, again?"

“It’s Jared, no worries. You okay with Tchaikovsky for the ride back to our place?” He asked, glancing back at the two.

Wilbur huffed a small laugh and did his seatbelt too, before leaning against Tommy again.

"Couldn't care less," he admitted. "So... yeah, uh, I got in a fight with Fundy. And he was kinda sorta the host. So I kinda sorta got kicked out. You know how it goes," he rubbed the back of his neck. "I wanted Tubbo to come with, but they... didn't. It's whatever."

Wilbur hummed. “Why’d you fight Fundy?” He leaned forward for a moment, making grabby hands above the centre console.  
“Babe. Babe.”

“Huh? Oh, sorry, here.” Jared fished a half empty bottle of Cabernet from the passenger side seat and handed it back to Wilbur.

“Thank you,” Wilbur smiled, taking it and taking a swig, before offering it to Tommy.

Tommy took it in his hands. "Thanks. Eh- I think he's been hurting Tubbo. Like- fuckin'- stomp mark on Tubbo's stomach, you know?" He took a swig. "But Tubbo didn't wanna talk about it, and I'm just feeling so good right now, so when I actually saw Fundy I just was really pissed and went for it."

Wilbur watched him for a moment, eyes narrowed. “Are you on something?”

"Huh? Just... just some booze and weed," he offered the bottle back sheepishly, prayed Wilbur wouldn't pry further.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and turned on the flashlight. “Open your eyes.”

"No, it's gonna hurt," he whined. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and he was pretty sure they were blown wide for other reasons, too. The thought of a flashlight being pointed to his face sounded like hell.

“That wasn’t a request,” Wilbur grumbled, putting a hand on his face to open his eyelids. He stared at them with the flashlight shining for a few moments, then hummed. “Alright, nevermind. I know Fundy’s a fan of coke, so I was worried you’d done some.”

Tommy nearly choked on the air, registering the fact that he had gotten away with it. "Yeah, no, coke, that shit's... that shit's nasty. I've told you I'm not gonna end up like you or Techno," he grinned in spite of the irony of it all. Come to think of it, he didn't feel quite the same euphoria as he had on the dance floor with Tubbo. It was a disappointing realization.

“Mm, good. Don’t ever start, y’know?” Wilbur offered a small smile to his brother.

“Wil’s actually two months clean now, you know.” Jared piped up.

Wilbur blushed a little and looked away in embarrassment. “It’s not a big deal.”

"Oh, shit," Tommy sat up, "really? Wait, I didn't know that. That's good, actually." Oh, what a travesty. His brother had just stopped, and here he was, starting. At least he didn't plan on making it a habit.

Wilbur shrugged. “It’s not a big deal.” He repeated, taking a long drink from the bottle.

“So, Tommy, you just finished high school, right?” Jared asked.

"No," Tommy shook his head. "Just finished junior year. I'm gonna be a senior next year," he explained.

“Oh, right. Sorry. Hard to keep track of Wilbur’s brothers and my nephews all at once.” He offered a small laugh.

"It's fine. Speaking of brothers, have you talked to Tech recently?" Tommy asked Wilbur.

Wilbur snorted a laugh. “Fuck no. Last I saw him he cussed me out.”

"When was that, again?"

“Uh… Christmas, I think.”

Tommy clicked his tongue. "Damn." He couldn't remember the last time he had talked to Technoblade. "Do you think he's still-?"

Wilbur looked over at him. “Still what?”

"Using?"

Wilbur stared at him. “I thought he quit when Phil kicked him out.”

"Did he?" Tommy furrowed his eyebrows, then leaned his head back, running his fingers up his face and through his hair. "Ugh. My mind is just so..." Tommy proceeded to make an assortment of random sounds with his mouth. "You know?"

He laughed and nodded. “I know the feeling. Yeah, I’m pretty sure he’s been clean, like…” he thought about it for a moment, “a year and a half?”

Tommy blinked.

And he was doing coke.

"Shit. I dunno why I thought..." no, he knew exactly why he was still under the assumption Techno was doing heroin. "I need to talk to him more, Jesus."

“Mm, I dunno. He’s a dick.” Wilbur shrugged.

"I guess, if he cursed you out," he mumbled, before taking the bottle from Wilbur and taking another sip. "God. I'm probably gonna pass out when we get to yours." He did feel extremely lethargic upon realizing the cocaine high had pretty much come and gone. "Can I sleep on the couch?"

“Does Phil think you’re sleeping at Tubbo’s or something?” He asked.

"It'll be fine," he waved Wilbur off. "Trust me. I'm, like, usually not home either way. Old man's used to it."

Wilbur watched him for a moment more. “Hm.” He took another swig, emptying the bottle.

Jared’s house was on the edge of Beverly Hills, all sleek white and glass overlooking rolling hills of sage and cactus.

“I’m gonna take the master bedroom, you two are welcome to hang out in the kitchen or one of the spares, but I’m heading to bed.” Jared said, leading them up the stairs of the garage up to the main house.

Tommy really wished he could appreciate the beautiful home a little more, but felt himself losing more and more of the world every time he blinked. His vision was fuzzy around the edges, and everything seemed to duplicate when he looked around. He was upset, and exhausted.  
"Wil, where are the bedrooms?" Tommy whined a bit.

“Over here,” Wilbur said, taking his hand and guiding him. The bedroom he took him to was painfully modern and minimalist, a single orchid serving as decoration.  
“Jared leaves at eight in the morning, but I’ll be here all day, so come wake me up when you wake up, okay?”

Tommy sat down in the bed. "I will. Thank you Wilbur," he hugged his brother once more, struggling to keep his eyes open. "...Okay, get out. I gotta take my binder off. Love you, Big Dubs."

Wilbur huffed a laugh and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Sweet dreams.”

When Tommy was alone in the room, he shucked off his hoodie and binder, and felt himself really breathe for the first time that night. When he laid his head down against the pillow, he stared up at above him.

He thought about something Techno had mentioned once. Something about patterns in popcorn ceilings. And then, a few moments later, he was swept away by a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	3. a testament to moxie and the miracle of lifelessness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw for suicide talk in this chapter!

Tommy awoke to someone gently shaking his shoulders.  
“Toms, it’s like noon, you’ve got to get up.”

Tommy's eyes snapped open, confused as to why Wilbur was hovering above him. Memories from the previous night came too slowly to be any sort of help.

"Wilbur? Why'm I..." he finally glanced around the room, and remembered thinking about how miserably Jared and Wilbur had decorated the place. Finally, his surroundings were familiar. "It's already noon?”

“Yup. You should get up, I’ll order breakfast and drive you home.” He sighed, rubbing one of his eyes to get the sleep out. He stood tall over his brother, his top surgery scars and the laurel leaf tattoos that adorned them giving the skin pulled tight over his ribs some decoration.

Tommy's eyes lingered over the scars for a little too long. He was happy for his brother for having gotten the surgery, he really was, but it all felt unfair. For all Tommy knew, he hated his chest so much more than Wilbur did, yet Wil was able to waltz his way into money and surgery while Tommy still had to deal with his shitty binders and big hoodies and heavy shirts.

"I don't really wanna go home, you don't wanna hang out for a bit?" Tommy quashed the bitterness that he felt to opt for an escape from everyday life.

Wilbur hesitated, jaw clenched as he forced himself to be friendly. “Yeah, sure, you can hang out here. We just have to get you home before Jared gets back from work, or I’ll be fucked.”

"What? Why's that?" Tommy tilted his head. "He let me spend the night, didn't he?"

“We, uh, have plans tonight.” Wilbur went to the kitchen, expecting his brother to follow.

Tommy stood and stretched before he went anywhere. He took a few moments to pull both his binder and his hoodie back over his head. Soon enough, though, he was trailing behind Wilbur.  
"When does he get home?"

“Around five, usually. D’you want a mimosa?” Wilbur asked as he fetched a bottle of champagne out of the fridge.

"Isn't it a bit early to be drinking?" Tommy noted. He pulled himself onto a stool beside the kitchen counter.

“It’s noon,” Wilbur shrugged and poured two glasses, filling the rest with orange juice. “D’you want it or not?”

"Well, you're already pouring it, aren'tcha?"

Wilbur hummed a laugh and slid the glass over to his brother. “You’ve got a black eye.”

"Do I?" Tommy had been wondering why his right eye hurt so much. "Shit. Dad's gonna ask about it."

“Mhm, he is. Good luck with that.” Wilbur laughed a little and sipped his drink.

"I don't even remember what happened last night," Tommy admitted. "...Holy shit. I totally blacked out, huh?"

“First time?” Wilbur asked, hopping up on the counter and crossing his legs under him.

Tommy blinked, hard.

He really couldn't remember anything from the previous night.

He couldn't remember why it felt like his lungs were broken. He couldn't remember why he had a black eye, why the inside of his nose felt stiff, why his mouth was so very dry. He took a swig to help the problem, but his eyebrows knit tight together.  
"I think so."

“Well, you said you got in a fight with Tubbo, and then Fundy beat you up.” Wilbur said, running a hand through his hair.

"...I don't remember any of that, what the fuck?" He had gotten in a fight with Tubbo? Fundy? "Wilbur, this is kind of scary."

“Mm, it can be. Usually doesn’t matter that much, though.” Wilbur shrugged and finished his glass.

"No, but what if I seriously fucked up last night?" Tommy pulled his phone from his pocket, hopefully to text Tubbo, get a quick refresher on what had happened... but his phone was dead. Tommy cursed under his breath. "Do you and Jared have iPhone or Android?"

“We both have iPhones. What model do you have?” He asked, pouring himself another glass.

"Android..." Tommy felt a familiar sense of panic creeping into his mind. Worry surged at the base of his skull, cold and staticky like a parasthetic limb. "My phone uses a USB-C port- would you have any of those laying around?"

“Uh, I dunno, you can dig through the cable drawer if you want.” Wilbur hopped off the counter and opened one of the drawers for him.

Tommy took a sizeable gulp of his drink, before sliding from his seat and taking a glance at the drawer. He dug around, but didn't find what he was looking for. He was more-or-less stranded in Wilbur's home, unable to contact his friends, with his only place to return being his father's house.

Tommy was seriously wishing he had memorized Tubbo's phone number right about now.

"Shit," he muttered. "Wilbur, I don't..." he wasn't sure what he was going to say, but then again, not many of the words coming to his mind made sense at the moment.

Wilbur watched him, finishing his second glass. “D’you want me to just drive you home now, so you can charge your phone?”

"No, Wilbur, because then dad's gonna ask me about my black fucking eye!" Tommy's words came out as more curt than he intended. He brought a hand to his mouth to begin chewing at his nails, while the other fished around in his pocket for his dab pen. He couldn't find it. "Fuck! And I lost my fucking vape!"

Tommy might have missed the way Wilbur flinched at the yelling, but he didn’t miss him shuffling off to his bedroom and returning with a pack of cigs and a lighter.  
“I’m going outside. If you’re going to keep bitching, don’t bother following me.”

"Oh, you're an asshole, Wil!" Tommy called after his brother as the eldest escaped through the glass sliding door. Tommy really didn't wanna trail after him, unless it was to chew him out some more; even that sounded like too much mentally, though, as his brain began swarming with more and more thoughts. Tommy shut the drawer and sank to the floor, letting his tailbone dig into the tile. It was grounding at the very least, if not painful.

"I'm gonna fucking kill myself," Tommy mumbled without much thought behind the words. As always, it was an impersonal sentiment- something he said just for the sake of saying it. A vague sign of distress, but not any sort of cry for help. He let the words loop on his tongue, pulled his knees to his chest, and felt his eyes unfocus. The light-headed sensation he felt was nothing compared to the heavy lead pit that his stomach became, as he thought over all the possible scenarios that could have occurred the day before that he would have no way of remembering. He begged himself to not be a fuck-up for long enough to remember just a single thing, pull something from the archives, fill in the massive blank spot that was Fundy's party-

he remembered the sensation of breathing powdered euphoria through his nose.

Tommy stood on shaky legs, and reached the counter just in time to puke the mimosa right back up into Jared's kitchen sink.

Wilbur poked his head back inside at the sound.  
“Did you just throw up?”

Tommy simply nodded, his tongue feeling too fat to form a sentence. He turned the water on and ducked his head beneath the faucet, eagerly drinking to clean the sour taste from his mouth.

“Jesus, man.” Wilbur sighed and put his cig out before going inside and gently rubbing his back. “Last I know of, Techno has an Android too, I could text him if you want? I mean, we could also just go out and buy you one.”

Tommy swallowed down more water, but didn't hear any of the words Wilbur said between the running water and the ringing in his ears. He straightened up and blinked, before staring helplessly at his brother.

Wilbur stared back for a moment. “Do you want to go to Best Buy and get a new charger?”

Tommy nodded and clutched the bottom hem of his hoodie. At least then he could talk to Tubbo, or anybody that wasn't Wilbur for that matter. He still couldn't bring himself to talk, though, much less feel better. He was cracking up, bit-nails digging into thick fabric as hard as they could.

He sighed and set his glass on the counter. “You’re driving. I’ll pay for the charger but I’m not gonna drive tipsy in LA traffic. Do you have your license on you?”

Again, Tommy nodded, but couldn't stomach the thought of driving right now. He once more doubled over the sink, and let the tap run to cover the sound of him blowing chunks.

Wilbur grimaced and went to his bedroom to get dressed, leaving Tommy alone in the kitchen.

In a brief moment of lucidity, Tommy wondered if he was having a panic attack, guzzling down more LA tap water than he cared to think about. A moment later, his brain was once again filled with a haze. All he could remember was the cocaine. All he could ponder was how severely Phil would react when Tommy eventually came home; would he kick Tommy out, too? Would he be mad enough to attempt hurting Tommy? Apparently, Tommy had fought Tubbo and Fundy. Would either of them want to talk to him anymore?

When Wilbur came out of his room, the sink was off once more, but Tommy huddled forward in front of it with his face resting in his palms, violently shaking as sobs tore him apart. He hadn't had this severe of a reaction since the night he watched Dream break Technoblade's nose- especially because, since then, he'd always be able to reach for his pen or a bowl to calm his nerves. Even that wasn't an option now, and the thought of slugging any more alcohol made him queasy.

Wilbur paused, watching his brother for a moment. “Okay… um…” he went to his side and gently took his hands.  
“Tommy, can you look at me?”

Tommy physically looked at Wilbur, but his glazed-over eyes didn't see much of anything.

“I want you to breathe with me, okay? Can you breathe in and out with me?”

Tommy had flashbacks to Sapnap doing this very same thing with him just a few years prior. Sapnap, who pulled Fundy away from him last night. That jogged his memory a bit, but didn't help the sorry state he was in. "I can't," he admitted. "I can't, I can't, I should just fucking kill myself." Again, the statement came out automatically, without much thought behind them.

“Woah, what the fuck? Tommy, no, what the fuck?!” Wilbur’s hand was on the side of his head, his eyes panicked and trying to meet Tommy’s.

"Not seriously," Tommy wished he could utter something more reassuring, but that was all he could muster for the moment. He had no idea why he was doing so poorly. He wanted to curl up and die from misery, from embarrassment.

“You shouldn’t say that, Toms.” Wilbur said, brows furrowed as he pulled him into a hug.

"Feel like dying," he mumbled into Wilbur's shirt. He didn't mean it in a suicidal way, but in an exhausted way. "Why do I feel like I'm dying?"

“You’re hungover and unmedicated, of course you feel like you’re dying.” Wilbur scoffed.

"Unmedicated?" He tilted his head, brain grappling onto whatever bit of distraction it could.

“Yeah, you’re not on any antidepressants or anything, right? Your brain is just running roam free.”

"I don't need...."

Wilbur laughed, then stopped himself when he thought better of it. “You do. Literally everyone in our family has some form of depression, there’s no way you skipped out.”

"Dad too?"

He laughed again, louder this time, and didn’t stop himself. “Dad too? Phil’s a fucking alcoholic, Tommy, how many happy alcoholics do you know?”

"Are you on meds?"

“Mm, no. You should be, though.”

"Hypocrite," Tommy was able to smile the smallest, most cynical grin.

He laughed a little. “Well, you’re not supposed to drink if you’re on antidepressants, so I… yeah. But really, you should talk to Phil about going to a therapist.”

Tommy hadn't been told to see a therapist in a while. He didn't miss having this conversation with Tubbo, with Techno.  
"I don't want someone in my head, Wilbur."

“Then at least go to a psychiatrist. They don’t get in your head, they just give you meds.” He suggested.

"I don't wanna have to not drink." Tommy decided to ignore how much he had changed since sophomore year. "Wil, I just- I don't wanna be fucked up. I know that I drink, and smoke, and shit, but everyone around me does. I'm not- I'm not worse off for it. I don't gotta go on meds," he reasoned. At the very least, he was feeling okay enough to string together a sentence, now.

Wilbur stared at him for a while, then sighed. “I can’t make you do anything. Just know that it would be good for you, and it would genuinely make you feel better, okay?”

"I hear horror stories of people who go on pills, Wil."

“Like what?”

"Becoming husks of who they used to be, killing themselves because they started meds. It's plastered all over the warning labels, isn't it?"

Wilbur huffed a laugh. “That’s so overdramatic. You just don’t want to get better.”

"No, Wil, I'm just scared!" Tommy cried. "I'm not actually suicidal, but what if I take Prozac and just... you know?"

“Well, you shouldn’t take Prozac, because it’s shit. I dunno what’s wrong with you, but if it’s just depression, I’d say aim for Lexapro. If it’s bipolar two like me, I’d say Latuda. Never even try Abilify, it’ll fuck you up.” He sighed and pushed Tommy’s hair out of his eyes, then took his chin in one hand and made him meet his eyes.  
“If you joke about being suicidal, you will become suicidal. Do you get that?”

"Is that what happened with Techno?" he joked. "Or was he just fucked?"

Wilbur faltered. “What? I don’t fucking know.” He pulled away from Tommy and straightened his blazer. “Come on, let’s go get your phone charger, I don’t wanna deal with you having a meltdown anymore.”

At least Tommy felt better, but he huffed. "Allow me to reiterate: you're an asshole, Wilbur." He shoved his hands in his hoodie pocket.

“And you’re an attention whore. C’mon, you can drive my car.” Wilbur tossed him the keys and grabbed a bottle of vodka out of the freezer.

Tommy caught the keys, but kept going as he walked to the front door. "I'm an attention whore? Look who's talking."

“Mm, you learned from the best.” Wilbur said, taking a swig from the bottle before he locked the door behind them.

"You are so full of yourself," Tommy teased, circling around to the driver's side of the Honda. He put the keys in the ignition, adjusted everything, and double-checked his pocket for his wallet containing his driver's license. He was ready to go, and clicked his seat belt as he pulled out of the driveway.  
"Can I ask you a question, Wilbur?"

“Shoot.” He said, leaning back in the passenger seat.

"I know this is gonna sound concerning as hell, but I swear I'm just curious. Have you ever been suicidal?" He stared at Wilbur, then brought his eyes back to the road.

He sighed, closing his eyes and putting his hands over his face. “I mean, yeah? Obviously?”

"I don't think we've ever really talked about... when you overdosed. Was it intentional?"

Wilbur shifted uncomfortably. “No, it wasn’t intentional. Not… not consciously intentional, at least.”

"But if you died, you wouldn't have minded?"

He hesitated, then looked at his brother, his brows furrowed. “You are suicidal, aren’t you? You’re asking that to gauge whether your own thoughts qualify, right?”

"It's not like that, Wilbur," Tommy's grip on the wheel tightened.

“What is it, then? That’s exactly what you do! That’s how you always figure shit out, I’ve seen you do it a thousand times! You’re fucking suicidal!”

"I don't actually wanna kill myself," he side-eyed his brother. "I'm not like that! I'm not like you or Techno!"

“Yes you are.” Wilbur scowled at him and took a swig from the bottle. “You’re exactly fuckin’ like us.”

"I'm not sat swigging vodka in the passenger's seat at noon. Actually- can you put that away? Any cop sees that and I'm getting my license taken."

Wilbur grumbled something, but put it under his feet.  
“I’d give it a month.”

"What are we giving a month now?"

“Til you’re in someone’s car chuggin’ vodka from the bottle at noon,” Wilbur snickered, his words starting to slur.

"Uh-huh," Tommy rolled his eyes, neglecting to tell Wilbur that he had already done that before. Several times. Just because he was being hypocritical, didn't mean his brother had to know. "Fucking- seriously, though. You're not worried for me, are you? Because you don't have to be."

“I’m very worried for you. When I drive you home I’m gonna talk to Phil.” He said, fetching a pair of sunglasses out of the glove compartment and putting them on.

Tommy's breath hitched, and he felt as though he could spiral into another episode. "Remember how much you freaked out when Tech told Phil you were drinking?"

“Mhm. Remember how it worked and I actually stopped drinking for a bit?”

"Yup. And then remember how you started using cocaine instead? And started drinking again anyways?"

Wilbur shifted in his seat and stared out the window. “Then I’ll tell Techno.”

"What's he gonna do? Tell dad?" Tommy accidentally went through a stop sign. He silently prayed Wilbur wouldn't point it out, and thanked whatever higher powers there were for not having any cars at that particular intersection. That only led to him thinking how easy it would be to just crash the car then and there. Take out both himself and his brother. Maybe Wilbur would be mad at him.  
Maybe Wilbur would thank him. Who knows.

“No, he’d probably… I dunno, he’s good at dealing with that stuff. He’d probably be able to help you.” Wilbur shrugged and leaned forward in his seat to take another drink from the bottle.

"I always told him I wouldn't be as bad off as you two were. Which I'm still not! I'm definitely not as fucked as either of you. But I'm still... worse off than I promised him. And those last few days when we lived together, after he found out I had a flask and all that shit? Literal worst days of my life. I could, like, physically feel his disappointment. I would give anything to not relive that." Like crashing the car. He could cut a hard left and swerve right into oncoming traffic. He could reroute, take them up a mountain, and veer off the side. He could do so many things to escape, to die. So many things that he wouldn't fathom actually committing himself to.

Wilbur sighed. “It’s because he loves you, Toms. Having people that love you is the thing that like, keeps you safe.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I’m gonna call him now.”

"Don't!" he looked at Wilbur with wide eyes. "No, Wilbur, I'm fine! Seriously, please-" his yells were cut off when the car behind him honked, and a glance back at the road showed that he was travelling into the next lane over by accident. He straightened out. When he spoke again, his voice was softer.  
"I'm not suicidal. If I really wanted to kill myself, I would've done so already. There's no reason to get Techno involved- you don't like talking to him in general, and I just don't think there's a point in worrying him." Tommy thought he construed himself rather elegantly for how much adrenaline was pumping through his veins.

Wilbur stared at him for a few moments, phone in hand, before sighing and putting it away.  
“If you kill yourself, I’m killing myself too.”

Tommy snickered. That wasn't a problem, because he was fine. "On a related note, have I ever told you I basically proposed a suicide pact with Tech when he was hospitalized? Again, I wouldn't- I wouldn't actually go through with it."

Wilbur paused, then took his phone out again and called Techno. The phone started to ring.

"Wilbur?" Tommy's eyes darted to his brother at his side. "What the fuck, Wilbur?!" Fear settled in his gut. He wasn't ready to have this conversation with Technoblade, of all people. Not now, not ever.

“People who aren’t suicidal don’t make suicide pacts, you fucking idiot!” Wilbur snapped, just as Techno picked up.

“Uh, what’s goin’ on?” Came the voice over the line.

"By that logic, you're suicidal too!" Tommy shouted back, not hearing Techno's voice through the quiet phone call speakers. "You just fucking proposed a suicide pact!"

“I know I’m suicidal, that’s why I have Jared! You have to fucking have people to help you, Tommy!” Wilbur shouted.

“Wilbur? Tommy? Can ya hear me?”

"Fucking- whatever. Did he even pick up?"

“Yeah, I picked up. What’s goin’ on?” Techno asked, his voice tinny over the speakers.

“Tommy is suicidal and I want you to help him,” Wilbur said, his words slurring.

"Put him on speaker phone," Tommy chastised. "I can barely hear him."

Wilbur nodded and did as he was told.

“Okay, you gotta explain better than that. Why are you two together? How did you find out he’s suicidal?”

"That's the thing, Techno, is that I'm not. Wilbur's worrying over shit I said back when you were hospitalized. It's been, what, over a year since then?" Tommy tilted his head. "It's seriously nothing."

“He was jus’ doin’ the thing where he’s like, ‘did you ever do this thing?’ Trying to figure out if it was normal, and it was for like, not caring if you died!” Wilbur objected.

“…What are you saying? Are you drunk? It’s like one PM, dude.”

“This isn’t about me!” Wilbur yelled. “I’m telling you that Tommy’s fucking suicidal an’ you have to do something!”

The line was silent for a second. “Okay, Tommy, could you explain what’s going on to me?”

"Okay. So, I had a rough night, and I woke up and had a panic attack not long after, right? Wilbur's able to calm me down a little, and I'm still not super in the right headspace, so I start prying about stuff from when Wilbur lived with us. Just for some resolution. I wasn't asking if he was trying to kill himself because I wanna die, I was asking so I could finally know what the fuck was going through his head," Tommy explained, leaving out little nuggets of truth that only Wilbur would pick up on. "He's seriously worrying for no reason!"

He heard Techno hesitate for a moment. “How are things at home? With Phil?”

"I mean... not great. Why?" Tommy pulled into the parking lot of the store, and picked a space near the back. It'd be more of a walk when they actually went in, but he assumed they'd be on this call for a bit, and didn't want many cars around to watch as the two brothers ranted to the air.

“Why are you with Wilbur? What was the rough night?”

Tommy groaned loud enough for Techno to hear. "...I blacked out at a party. Wilbur picked me up and let me spend the night at his place. The panic attack was 'cause... I realized I blacked out, you know?"

The line was silent for a few moments. Wilbur took the opportunity to bring the bottle to his lips again.

“You blacked out?” Techno’s voice cracked with worry.

"It's fine! I was with Tubbo. I don't remember what happened," or he wanted to pretend the bits he did remember didn't happen, "but I was safe."

“So why didn’t you go home with Tubbo? Why did you spend the night at Wilbur’s?”

The eldest in question rolled his window down and lit a cigarette. "I don't- Wilbur, can you just tell him what happened from your point of view? I seriously don't remember."

“He called me at two AM, said he got kicked out of a party at Tubbo and Fundy’s because he got in a fight with both of ‘em.” Wilbur said.

“What kind of fight?”

“Well, he has a black eye.”

A sigh came through the line. “That’s not good.”

"But, like, I don't think anything's broken?" Maybe his ribs, but he didn't want to mention that. Plus, that pain might not have been caused by the fights, anyways. He still wasn't sure. "For whatever it's worth, all I did was some weed, and drank a shit ton more than I should've. That's all, and it's not a usual thing for me. First time blacking out like that, actually!"

Wilbur snickered a little under his breath and blew smoke out the window.

“Okay… so, you’re not suicidal, right?”

"No, I'm not. I'm sorry Wilbur called and worried you."

“It’s okay. Just… listen, if stuff with Phil gets to be too much, my door is open, okay? And you have my number.”

"Uh-huh. Sorry again. I'll call you soon, just to catch up and shit. It's been a bit. But we just got to the store," Tommy explained. "Oh! But, quick before we go- is it true? That you're clean?"

The line was quiet for too long.

“Yeah.” His voice came quietly. “Yeah. I’m gonna head now, you two stay safe, okay? Bye.” The line went dead.

Wilbur undid his seatbelt and put out his cig on the outside of the car. “Alright, let’s get your charger.”

Tommy nodded, and without anything more to say, killed the ignition and got out. He and Wilbur walked side-by-side into the store, where Tommy picked out a charger. It was an affair without many distractions or detours.

Waiting around in line for checkout, Tommy found himself looking at lighters. "You know, I can pay for the charger, actually."

“What, d’you ‘ave a job all of a sudden?” Wilbur scoffed.

"No. But dad's still giving me a pretty good allowance. 'Cause he's guilty."

He laughed loudly at that. “Oh my god, Jared is doing the exact same thing.”

Tommy joined Wilbur in the laughter. "Fuck yeah. Male guilt money. Nothing beats it!" When they settled down a bit, Tommy hummed. "Why's he guilty, though?"

“Mm, nothin’ big. I almost killed m’self a while ago because of some stuff he said, so he’s started givin’ me a bigger allowance.” Wilbur snickered.

Tommy's eyes shot wide open. "You what? And I didn't hear about it at all? Actually, no, wait, what'd he even say that made you... do that?!"

Wilbur shrugged, rolling his eyes and going to the counter when the cashier called them. He let Tommy pay, and walked beside him back out of the store.  
“It’s not a big deal. We jus’ got in a fight an’ I overreacted, is all.”

"Oh, yeah." Tommy thought about it for a moment. "Us Watsons have a thing for threatening suicide at any little inconvenience, huh?"

“Mhm,” Wilbur nodded, practically falling back into the passenger seat and laughing a little at that. “Every gay man over forty is the same.”

"I can't believe you're a certified sugar baby. You're disgusting, Wil."

“You’re jealous.” Wilbur cracked a lazy grin at his brother as he put his seatbelt back on. “I bet you’d kill to have what I have.”

"Not really," Tommy set the bag down at Wilbur's feet, before getting the car running again. "I can make my own money, thank you very much."

“Mm, but can you get high quality coke for free?”

Tommy sputtered. "Coca-Cola or cocaine?"

Wilbur huffed a laugh. “Cocaine, dumbass.”

"Well, gee, Wilbur. There's only one kind of coke I partake in. I don't see how that's supposed to seal the deal on making me want a sugar daddy."

Wilbur shrugged. “I mean, it keeps you skinny.” He sighed. “At least, while you’re doing it.”

"You sure do care about being skinny. Do you have an eating disorder or something?" Tommy joked.

“You’re a dickhead, you know that?” Wilbur snapped, all remnants of his smile painted over with a scowl.

"Woah! I was just joking?" Tommy looked over with concern, wowed by the whiplash.

“Maybe you should learn to shut y’r fuckin’ mouth occasionally, Tommy.” Wilbur said, gritting his teeth and staring out the window beside him.

"Not the first time I've heard that one," Tommy sighed out. "Do you seriously have one?"

“It’s none of your fucking business,” Wilbur mumbled, his words slurred.

"I dunno. You seem rather proud of being skinny. Am I not allowed to pry when it seems like you have problems? Is that something only you can do?"

Wilbur set a glare on his brother, his eyes cold and dark.

"...So are you just gonna not talk to me the rest of the ride? What's going on here?"

“You can call Phil to pick you up. I’m not driving you home.” He said, punctuating his words with a swig from the bottle.

"...I have your car keys," he pointed out, with no intentions to actually steal Wilbur's car, but his mind set on freaking him out a little.

“Okay? Drive us off a bridge, see if I fucking care.” Wilbur’s glare sharpened his slurred words.

"...Those are dangerous words, Wilbur. After all, aren't I- aren't I suicidal? Aren't I crazy and suicidal? Maybe I'll actually do it." Tommy's words were prickling too, syllables cracking as the pressure began to weigh down on him.

Wilbur only stared for a second before his palm was connecting with Tommy’s cheek. “I’m fucking sick of you!” He yelled.

"I'm driving!" Tommy shouted back, only allowing himself a fraction of a second to recover before ensuring he was still on the road. He didn't actually want to go out like this. No matter how badly he wanted to die, not in this cramped machine with fucking Wilbur.

Since when did Tommy want to die? He thought it was a passive thing- if he were killed, if he ended up in a freak accident, he wouldn't mind. Now, though, the thought of crashing and ending both of them then and there sounded heavenly. The only thing standing in his way was how pissed he felt at Wilbur. He just couldn't give his brother that same gratification.

"Fuck you, Wilbur!" Tommy continued. "You know you fucking did this to me?"

“I didn’t do fuckin’ anything to you, Tommy!” Wilbur growled.

"What do you mean?" Tommy squawked. "You did so fucking much! You and Techno and dad, the whole fucking lot of you! I found you nearly dead! I thought you were dead! Do you not register how that might, I dunno, fuck up a thirteen year old?"

Wilbur rolled his eyes and leaned against the back of his seat, taking a long drink from the bottle.  
“Well shit, ‘m sorry I ‘ad the audacity to overdose in my own room instead of somewhere my shithead little brother couldn’t find me!”

Tommy took a shaky inhale, before he spoke the words that had been on his mind for years. The words he hated thinking, but in this moment they felt so right. His tone was terse. "Maybe you should've died, Wilbur."

For a while, Wilbur was quiet. His breaths grew shaky, he blinked away the sting in his eyes.  
“I hope you do kill yourself. I hope Phil finds you and he kills himself too.” He whispered.

"And I hope you and Techno follow us," Tommy agreed. "Maybe this whole fucking family should've never existed. Maybe if we- maybe if Phil never adopted us, maybe we'd all have been better off. At least, we wouldn't have to hurt each other."  
He glanced at Wilbur. "We'd only have to hurt our real families. Didn't you say that once?" Tommy chuckled. "We're only brothers because of a stupid piece of paper?"

Wilbur tensed for a moment, before reaching forward and grabbing the steering wheel. He pulled it down to the right, tears blurring the traffic he tried to veer them into.

Tommy almost let him, before remembering he was stubborn, and did not want to let Wilbur die.   
"Fuck off!" He shoved Wilbur away with one hand, steadied the car with his other. "Just let me get us home. We can make rash decisions after. Okay?"

“Fuck you,” Wilbur spat, taking another chug of the vodka. “You’re a fucking piece of shit.”

"Oh yeah? Well, I learned from the best."

The second they arrived back at Wilbur’s house, Wilbur got out and slammed the car door behind him. “Charge your phone an’ call someone to pick you up. Don’t fuckin’ come near me.”

"I wouldn't want to, anyways," Tommy assured, after grabbing the plastic bag and following Wilbur inside. He went straight for the room that he had woken up in, and slumped down against the wall beside an outlet, plugging in his phone.

After the phone was powered on, he navigated to Discord, and typed through the blur of tears he finally let well.

TommyInnit: tubbo  
TommyInnit: i dont really remember what happened last night but im really sorry  
TommyInnit: can i call in a favor now and give a better apology later?

The response came a few moments later.

Tubbo: whats the faorv

Tommy navigated to Google Maps, so he could see the address for the house. He sent it to Tubbo.

TommyInnit: can you come here and pick me up?

Tubbo: ok ill be their in like 30 mintues

TommyInnit: god i owe you so much  
TommyInnit: ok ill apologize in the car  
TommyInnit: see you soon

Tubbo: mk

When Tommy received a text notifying him that Tubbo was there, he pulled his sleeves over his hands and pressed them over his face, wiping up all the stray tears and snot he had produced. He picked himself up and gathered his charger, phone only at 15%, before leaving the room. He made sure to call out one last thing before he left. "Thanks for nothing, asshole!"

He pulled the front door shut behind him, and was relieved to see Tubbo's Ford Contour. He ran over, and got in the passenger's side.  
"Hi, Tubbo. Can I...?" He opened his arms, requesting a hug.

Tubbo nodded and leaned across the centre console to hug him.  
“What are you doing in LA?”

"Um, Wilbur picked me up last night, yeah? And he let me crash at his." Tommy pulled away, sniffling again. "Forgot how much he sucks."

Tubbo’s brows furrowed and they nodded, pulling out of the driveway. “What’d he do?”

"He... it's nothing, really. Just typical shitty brother stuff." He wiped at his eyes again, with the back of his hand. "What even happened last night? I don't remember but- again, I'm sorry for whatever stupid shit I did."

“It’s alright, I was being shitty too. Sapnap kinda implied that you had been drinking a lot lately, and I slapped you. Then you slapped me back, and Fundy beat you up.” Tubbo sighed and pulled onto the highway.  
“I’m sorry Fundy hurt you. He’s a dick.”

Tommy nodded. With the gentle explanation, he almost felt like he could remember the events of the party. "It's okay. Wilbur and Fundy both, huh?"

Tubbo hummed and nodded. “Older brothers tend to be nasty. I think I got off lucky with Eret because she’s not really a brother.”

"True. She's barely even around, though. Not that that's her fault. That's capitalism's fault," he smirked, before beaming a bit. "Oh! Speaking of capitalism, I talked to Tech for a bit today."

“What does Technoblade have to do with capitalism?” Tubbo laughed.

"He's super against it," Tommy grinned.

“Okay, fair. How was that?”

"Good. Uh, I kinda remembered Wil telling me last night that Tech got clean. He confirmed it 'n all." Tommy stared out the window, and sighed.  
"I really should talk to him more, because I seriously had no idea. But I don't really think I miss him."

Tubbo bit back a frown. “You don’t miss him at all? Wasn’t he the nicer to you of the two?”

"He was. That's the thing that sucks. Maybe I would've been better off as an only child, you know? Skipped the brother trauma all together. I love Technoblade and all, but it's not like he didn't do his fair share of fucking me up." His fingers fidgeted with his new charger. "Maybe I'm just glad he actually bothered to make up for it. Wilbur has no remorse."

They stayed quiet. After a few moments, they offered Tommy the aux cord that connected to a cassette mod in the car.

Tommy took it graciously. "Are you alright with a bit of rap?"

“Not at the moment, I have a headache. Could you just put something quiet on?”

Tommy gave a playful groan and rolled his eyes. Kim by Eminem was stuck in his head, but he could always loop it when he got home.  
"Yeah, one second." He scrolled through his Spotify until he found something he knew Tubbo would enjoy: Touch by Daft Punk.

Tubbo let a small smile tug at their lips.  
“Thanks.” They hummed among as they drove, letting out a small sigh. “Please don’t tell anyone about the Fundy thing.”

"I won't. I'm just not sure what I'm gonna tell dad when he sees my black eye."

“Oh… that’s a good question.” Tubbo’s brows furrowed. “I mean, maybe you could just be honest? Like, not fully honest, I mean.”

"I mean, maybe. He might ground me, though," he frowned over at Tubbo. "Which would be... a less than stellar start to the summer."

Tubbo laughed a little. “I don’t think that would really change anything. Isn’t he barely home anyway? Would he even notice?”

"You've got a point, there. If we're lucky, you'll drop me off and his car won't even be in the driveway," Tommy shrugged.

“It is a Tuesday. Wouldn’t he be at work right now?”

"Oh." Tommy hadn't even considered the time, nor the day. "Yeah, I guess so," he smiled.

“D’you wanna hang out for a bit, then? Go to the creek or something?”

"...Would you be mad at me if I said I was a little too tired for all that?"

“No, not at all. Have you eaten today?”

"I had a mimosa and immediately threw it back up?"

“Jesus, man.” Tubbo laughed a little. “I can’t buy you anything, but we could swing by In-N-Out or something if you want to get yourself some food.”

"No, I got food back at home. I'm not really feeling In-N-Out," he waved a hand.

“Right. You will eat though, right?”

"Yeah, I will. You can stay if you wanna watch or something," he proposed, "I just don't really wanna like... go out right now."

“Okay. If you’re okay with me hanging out at yours, I would like to.” Tubbo said, glancing over their shoulder as they changed lanes.

"Well, in that case, I would like you to as well," Tommy smiled.

Tubbo smiled too. “Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	4. soon enough i will estrange you all

Tommy hung out of his bedroom window. Not all the way, just his upper body, but he did think about what would happen if he just kicked his legs up and over the sill. He could jump out.

The height probably wouldn't be enough to kill him, though.

He sighed out through his nose, watching as the deep navy of the night time sky morphed into blazing oranges, pretty pinks. The summertime brought him no obligations, so he was staying up to watch the sunrise. After, he would sleep away all the hours of the day. He felt disgustingly at ease. If he were more of a poet, like either of his brothers, he might have written about the way the gentle wake of the morning made him feel in a diary or his notes app. He wasn't like them, though. Tommy was not like his brothers. Thomas Simon Watson was nothing like either of his brothers, nothing like his father, nothing like his family.

He started to cry to himself, tried to convince himself it was true. He wasn't like them. The world was still asleep, it was just him in his bedroom alone. He could jump out the window. He was nothing like his family. He wasn't a Watson, he never should have been a Watson, he should just jump out the window-

he had lost his pen at some point during Fundy's party. He never did find it after realizing he didn't have it at Wilbur's place. In the days since, he had been surviving off of the little stash he built up over time, smoke delivered via a pipe. His supply had dwindled, though, to the point where his mason jar was empty. Sapnap, who he bought through, had left to visit family in Texas and would be gone for another week. That left Tommy's only option being to buy directly from Schlatt, and... well, he never liked the guy much. Tommy got the feeling that Schlatt didn't like him right back- maybe it was because Jay was protective of his little cousin. Maybe it was because he was related to Wilbur. It could be any number of things.

Whatever he would decide to do, it didn't matter now, because for right now he had nothing. He was not about to drive to Schlatt's house at five thirty-two in the goddamn morning. Usually, when Tommy got like this, he would just smoke his brain to mush and then everything would be better. For now, he was sober. He was alone. Nobody he cared for would be awake at this hour to cheer him up.

The sound of clinking coming from the kitchen served as a reminder that Tommy did, indeed, have a father.

He pulled the bottom hem of his shirt up to his face, and dabbed at his eyes and nose until he looked normal, maybe just a little tired. He left his room and went downstairs, footsteps as loud as he was.

"Dad?" Tommy peeked into the kitchen. "It's Saturday, why're you up?"

Phil startled and turned around. “Oh, shit, you’re already up?”

Tommy shrugged. "Haven't slept."

He stared at his son for a moment. “You haven’t? Have you been getting insomnia?”

"What? No. It's summer break and I'm a teenager." Tommy walked over to the fridge and opened it up to grab a Coke.

“Oh… well, d’you want crepe? I was going to… uh… I thought it’d be nice if we had breakfast together.”

Tommy blinked at his father. "...Sure. What's in 'em?"

“Uh, whatever you want? I bought lemons yesterday so we can do lemon juice and sugar.” Phil suggested, pouring the batter of the first one onto the pan.

"Eh... do we have..." Tommy's voice trailed off, and he checked the pantry for something. "Father? I want Nutella crepes."

Phil snorted a laugh. “Cupboard on the left. How many do you want?”

Tommy had to think for a bit. It had been a while since he'd had a crepe, and wasn't sure how many he usually had. "Six?"

“Sounds good to me. Can you cut up a banana so you at least get some nutrition in there?” He asked.

Tommy groaned. "You're so old." Regardless of his complaining, Tommy grabbed a cutting board, and pulled a banana from the bunch resting on the counter. He got to cutting it up, and ignored the thoughts of plunging the knife deep into his stomach.

Phil laughed a little at that. “Watch your tone, mister.” He set the plate of crepe down on the table. “Could you cut up some strawberries too?”

"You just aged, like, twenty years." Tommy pushed the banana chunks to one end of the board, chucked the peel in the trash, and retrieved strawberries from the fridge. Red juice spilled from the fruit as he cut it.

His father just laughed again and shook his head, setting the rest of the table.  
“There, this is nice, isn’t it?” He asked as he sat down.

"Yeah. What do you want to drink?" Tommy poured his can of Coke down the sink, because soda and chocolate did not go together.

“Just water’s fine, thanks.”

Tommy made his dad a glass of water, then himself a glass of milk. He sat down.  
"I don't think we've really eaten like this since Technoblade left," Tommy remarked.

Phil paused at that and his movements softened.  
“I suppose we haven’t.” He sighed a little. “I’m sorry.”

Tommy didn't tell him it was okay or reassure him. Tommy wasn't sure it'd be deserved. Instead, he just dug into his crepe, and decided to lay on the guilt a little thicker. "I forgot how good your cooking is." After all, he and his father had been surviving off of takeout and frozen meals. Both of them had gotten too bad to bother cooking anymore.

He huffed a small laugh at that. “I did have a good teacher.”

"Oh yeah?" Tommy raised an eyebrow. "Who's that?"

“Techno,” Phil said, covering his hand with his mouth as he ate.

Tommy nodded, slowly.   
"He tried to teach me a few times." Guilt coiled in him. He promised Techno he would call soon, but never did. He didn't feel particularly inclined to, either.

“He’s a very good cook, I’ll give him that.” Phil sighed. “Have you spoken to him recently? Or Wilbur?”

Tommy shoveled more into his mouth, and spoke around the half-chewed food.  
"Not really," he lied. He wasn't sure how he could even begin to tell his dad everything that had happened between the brothers recently.

Phil hummed and nodded. “Would you want to do something today? See a movie, drive into LA?”

"Okay, who are you, and what have you done with Phil?" Tommy sipped his milk, staring Phil down with suspicion in his eyes.

Phil paused. “I… I just thought it’d be nice to hang out. I haven’t seen much of you as of late.” He thought for a moment. “Is it genuinely outlandish that I would want to spend time with you?”

"Maybe not like... a few years ago. I dunno." He cut into another crepe, but pushed it around on his plate rather than actually eating it. "Are you seriously trying to beat around the bush of everything that's happened? Literally, just, everything?"

His father blinked, taken aback. “I’m not trying to beat around anything, Tommy, I don’t see how it’s somehow a bad thing for me to try to spend time with you.”

"Well it's not, but you're acting all confused as to, like... why we haven't been hanging out," he set down his silverware.

“Because you’ve been shut off in your room for months, I’m not confused. I’m trying to get you to actually talk to me! I want to be here for you, Tommy!”

Tommy's brows lowered. "So you're confused on why I've been shut off in my room for months?"

“A little, is that surprising? You haven’t actually spoken to me!”

"I have so many formative memories with Wilbur and Techno, and now they're just... gone! The house feels empty. It feels like they really did die, both of them."

Phil faltered. “Well why don’t you go visit them?”

"I do. It doesn't make it feel any more lively around here."

“There’s not a lot I can do to change the number of people in our house, Tommy. Would you like to have Tubbo over?”

"Tubbo already comes over? I dunno. You could've, like, not kicked them out. Too late for that, though, I suppose."

Phil tensed and his stare hardened. “Tommy, they were doing hard drugs in my house. They knew exactly what the consequences for their actions were.”

"Yeah, no, I get that. And so you pushed them out into the world alone with no support structures."

“I’m not having this discussion with you.” Phil said, going back to his breakfast.

"Okay, you don't have to. Wanna know another reason I don't talk to you much, though?" His father paused and looked at him.  
"You're always fucking drinking," Tommy rolled his eyes. "Oh, look at me, my name's Phil Watson and I just looove whiskey," his voice went deep to a strenuous extent as he tried to imitate his father.

Phil was quiet, staring for a few moments. “Are you done?”

Tommy chewed the inside of his cheek. "...I might be."

“You’re done or you’re grounded, make your choice.”

"Alright, alright," Tommy raised his hands in surrender, "I'm done. Sorry, pops," he enunciated the "p's."

Phil went back to his breakfast, not looking his son in the eyes. “You don’t know how hard it is to raise three kids, alright?”

"Then why'd you get us?" Tommy leveled a stare at him. The rant he went on to Wilbur reverberated in his mind, something about how Phil should have never made them all a family.

It made his father falter, his eyes widening and his brows furrowing. “I- because I love you. You needed a home and I wanted to give you that. I wanted to make sure you could grow up in a safe environment.”

"I probably... could've fared in the system." He picked his fork back up, resuming his crepe-pushing.

Phil stared at him, face crestfallen and body frozen. “Am I that awful of a father?”

"No," Tommy said, quickly. Maybe he did feel like Phil was that bad sometimes. But the way the man shrank... Tommy hated to see it.  
"I think you're just a little fucked up. Or maybe I'm a bad son, I don't know." He popped a bite of the pastry in his mouth. "Hard to tell."

Phil looked down at his food again, quiet. “You’re not a bad son, Tommy. You never could be. I’m so proud of you I can’t even put it into words.”

Tommy scoffed at that. "Are you proud of Wilbur and Techno?"

“Yes, of course I am.”

"Then why-" Tommy ignored the way his voice cracked, "why are they gone? How often do you visit them?"

Phil averted his gaze. “I-“ he swallowed his nerves. “It’s complicated, Tommy. They betrayed my trust, you have to understand that. I still love them. I’m still proud of them. It’s just hard for me to trust them.”

"What if I betray your trust? Will you kick me out, too?"

Phil’s jaw set in place. “Not until you’re an adult. Wilbur and Techno were both adults when they did. If they had been kids, like you, I wouldn’t have kicked them out.”

"So what if I betrayed your trust now? Would you..." he swallowed, "would you try to hit me again?"

Phil blanched. “What? Tommy, I would never hit you, what do you mean, ‘again?’”

Tommy furrowed his eyebrows. "You don't remember? It was the night Techno came home with a broken nose."

“When Techno…” Phil thought it over, looking away. “I didn’t see you two when Techno broke his nose, I only saw you when he was hospitalised the next day.”

"...Yes you did?" Tommy stared at Phil, awestruck. "Did you black out?"

Phil’s brows screwed together. “No, I didn’t, you slept over at Dream’s, and then Techno went to give you your phone charger. The next day, I got a call from Schlatt saying Techno had overdosed and he was in the hospital. I never saw you two between that.”

"No, Techno picked me up from Dream's house, they got in a fight, Dream gave Techno a concussion and a broken nose. He took me back here, I fixed his nose, and then you came in and started yelling at us. So we got Jimmy to pick us up and we spent the night there," Tommy explained.  
"That's why I was so defensive in the car the next day, you know? And also why I thought Tech was in there for a concussion. Not... not an overdose."

He thought it over, staring at his plate. “That’s… that’s not what I remember.”

"Well that's what happened. Wanna call up Techno? Or Jimmy? Dream?"

“No, no, I… I’m sure you’re telling the truth. That’s just not what I remember.” He sighed, resting his head in his hands.

"So you blacked out."

Phil shifted uncomfortably and forced himself to swallow the forming lump in his throat. “I suppose so.”

Tommy let silence hang over the two of them for a bit.  
"Why's he go by that, anyways?" He began. "Jimmy. Isn't he, like, forty? He should be a Jim."

“He’s only thirty-something, actually. He’s a millennial, I think he’s allowed.” Phil said, voice quiet.

"Oh. Guess your elderliness rubbed off on him," Tommy smirked.

Phil didn’t say anything for a few moments. “I’m gonna do some work stuff for a bit. Let me know if you need anything.” He said, bringing his plate to the sink.

"Wait, dad," he called to stop Phil. He paused and turned around, looking at Tommy ."I thought we were gonna go to LA or something."

“Oh,” Phil hummed. “I thought you didn’t want to.”

"What?" Tommy laughed a bit at that. "I want to."

“I thought…” Phil trailed off, then cleared his throat, “Okay. I’ll get dressed, we can leave in a couple minutes.”

"Alright." Tommy looked down at his get-up of basketball shorts and a tank top that he called pajamas.  
"I probably should too. Can you clean my plate?" He gave his father a wide grin.

“Just put it in the sink, I’ll deal with it when we get home.” Phil waved a hand in dismissal.

"Ugh. That still requires getting up and going to the sink, but whatever." He did as he was told, before heading up to his bedroom so he could dress.

He stood looking at himself in the mirror. It was supposed to be a scorcher that day, so Tommy put on a light t-shirt. The only problem was that he could see the outline of his binder through the thin fabric. He hated seeing the thing, a scathing reminder that he didn’t feel like a real man. He groaned and took the shirt off, switching it out for a different top. The plain black one he tried was going to be hot... but it made him feel better. He ruffled his hair, rubbed at the bags under his eyes, and rejoined Phil downstairs.

Phil was wordless as he locked the front door behind them and got in the car. “D’you want to put on some music?”

"Could I?" Tommy was already reaching for the aux cord, and scrolling through his playlists, trying to determine the mood for the day. He landed on his playlist, Just Lose It. When he hit shuffle, Humility by Gorillaz came on over the speakers. It fit the California summer morning.

The drive was quiet for the most part, the two of them occasionally humming along to the music.  
“Could you look on Google Maps and see if there’s somewhere you want to go?” Phil asked as they approached the city.

"Uhh, sure..." he was halfway through picking up his phone before an idea came to mind. "Oh, dad! Do you know Technoblade's roommate? Ezekiel?"

Phil made a face at that. “Um… I do not. Why do I get the feeling you’re going to try to introduce us?”

"He's pretty cool. He works in a magic store."

“Tommy, I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Knowing Techno, I probably don’t have the best reputation with him.”

"No, dad, I just told you. He's cool. All, like, understanding and nice and shit," Tommy attempted to reassure him.

Phil hesitated. “How do you know this guy again? Where did him and Techno meet?”

"The magic shop I told you about. It's like... not magic tricks. The witch stuff Techno likes."

“Witch stuff? What do you mean witch stuff?”

"Like, the astrology and tarot and crystal shit."

Phil’s brows furrowed. “Is he pagan or something?”

"I dunno. He took me to get my cards read here once- I'll put it on my sat-nav." Tommy navigated to the Google Maps app, and started looking for the place.

“Are you pagan?” Phil asked, glancing over.

"Oh, no. No," Tommy started laughing, "that is not for me."

Phil hummed and nodded, looking back at the road. “Do you think I should have raised you guys going to church?”

Tommy laughed harder. "You're not serious, are you?"

“I don’t know! Wilbur said something about it at Christmas and I was wondering!”

"I'm... not really a Christian, dad. I dunno. I guess I liked getting to choose what I thought?" Tommy scratched his chin. "I sorta sound like a pretentious asshole."

He huffed a laugh. “If you’re a pretentious arse, I am too. I hate Christianity. I mean, Catholicism more specifically.”

"Oh, yeah?" Tommy looked over at his father.

“My parents tried to raise me Catholic. It never stuck.” Phil sighed. “The fear of demons and sinning and shit did, though.” He laughed.

"Damn. Some good old religious trauma, huh?" Tommy wasn't sure he ever knew that about his father.

“I- I wouldn’t call it trauma. I don’t think I have any actual… trauma.”

Tommy hummed. "No? None at all?"

“No, I don’t think so. I mean, I’ve never been to war or anything.” He said.

"Well, war isn't like, the end-all be-all of trauma, you know."

“Okay, what is, then? What would you consider trauma?”

"I mean... well, a lot of things can classify as trauma? I guess anything that like... fucks you up. Majorly. Like, when I found Wilbur, you know. Or watching Dream beat up Technoblade."

Phil was quiet for a while. “So if it makes you have nightmares or something?”

"Mhm. I'm pretty sure that's even a symptom of, like, PTSD."

“Hm… I guess I have some trauma, then.”

Tommy wasn't expecting this revelation out of the day. "And what's that?"

Phil shrugged. “I have a reoccurring nightmare about when my mum cut me with a broken beer bottle. She had found out I had a boyfriend, and it… yeah. It didn’t go over well.”

"Oh. I didn't... I didn't know that. Is that why we've never met her?"

“No, you’ve never met her because she killed herself when I was twenty. None of you were born yet.”

Tommy sighed, buzzing his lips. His heart sank a bit. "Jesus. That's heavy."

Phil shrugged again. “She wasn’t a very happy person.”

"Didn't you used to drink a long time ago? Before you got sober?"

There was a moment of hesitation. Phil’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Mm, yeah. Up until I was thirty-two.”

"Man. I feel like I'm really getting to know you," Tommy smiled a little. "Did you only drink? Or...?"

Phil sighed, shifting uncomfortably. “I also smoked. And… and I was doing a lot of other stuff. Worse stuff.”

Lots of things finally clicked for Tommy.  
"You don't want Wilbur and Techno doing the same shit you were doing." He could almost call it hypocritical- but no, Tommy knew he had just learned from experience.

“Of course I don’t.” Phil muttered. “That’s why I got so scared.”

"Well, they both quit."

“I know. I’m very proud of them.” Phil said, letting out a deep breath. “It’s not easy.”

Tommy wondered how easily he would be able to quit, whenever he'd decide he wanted to. "I am too. Would it be condescending to say I'm proud of you, too?"

Phil gritted his teeth. “I understand you mean well with it, but it just feels patronising.”

"Noted," Tommy tapped his temple. "What if I told you a secret now?"

“Go ahead.”

Tommy reached into his pocket, before hesitating. "No, actually, that's probably not a good idea."

Phil glanced over. “Well now I’m curious.”

"Can you promise you won't be mad?"

Phil clicked his jaw to the side. “As long as it’s not hard drugs, sure, I won’t get mad.”

"Well, not hard," he shrugged, and pulled out his dab pen. Maybe he had gotten a little too comfortable with the honest energy in the car, but even if Phil took it, the thing was empty anyways. He could just get a new one.

Phil looked over at it, then focused back on the road and sighed. “You know that’s what Wilbur and Techno started with too, right?”

"Yeah, I know. But I promised both of them, like, a lot, that I wouldn't do anything else." He thought back on doing coke with Tubbo. He mentally reprimanded himself: he didn't want to do it again. He wasn't going to slip down the same slope Wilbur had. And maybe he could even convince himself the only reason he had tried it in the first place was because he was drunk, not because he actually wanted to.

“I want to trust you, Tommy. Please don’t give me reason not to.”

"I won't! I won't. That's why I'm telling you about this," he waved the pen a little bit, before putting it back in his pocket.

Phil was quiet for a few moments. “I’m okay with you smoking weed, but it’s going to be a problem if you start smoking cigarettes or using nicotine vapes, okay? Addiction is a scary thing, Tommy.”

"I know it is, dad. I've seen it. I'm not gonna be like that."

His father sighed. “Okay. Thank you.”

Tommy didn't talk for a bit.  
"What was your dad like?"

Phil tensed. “He left when I was three. I don’t know.”

"Just you and an alcoholic mother, then?"

His knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. “…yep.”

"And that's why you adopted us. Because you know what a shitty home life is like,” Tommy observed. Phil nodded.  
Tommy watched the buildings pass by outside the window. "...I love you, dad."

Phil faltered, looking over at his son as a sad smile tugged at his lips. He looked back at the road. “I love you too, Tommy. More than anything. You’re my heart.”

Tommy felt warmth wash over him... he had missed his dad. Fuck whatever Wilbur had to say. "What other fucked up facts can you tell me about your childhood?"

Phil laughed. “Oh, god. What do you want to know?”

"I don't even know what there is to know. Just pull something off the top of your head, old man!"

He sucked in air through his teeth. “Uh, I mean, my mom’s boyfriend used to put cigarettes out on me. Is that fucked up?”

"Very," Tommy brought a hand to his mouth to keep himself from laughing. "Holy shit. Keep it coming."

“Uh… the same boyfriend made me sleep outside in the middle of winter for a week because I talked back to him.” Phil offered a weak grin. “And this was in Newcastle. It was snowing.”

"Not the snow," Tommy shook his head. "So is the fucker dead yet, or what?"

“I don’t know. He dumped my mum a week before she killed herself.” Phil shrugged. “He didn’t come to the funeral or anything.”

"Did she kill herself because he left?"

Phil went quiet at that. He stared at the road, hands tapping the wheel out of nerves. “Partially.”

"Do you know why else she did that?"

His father took a deep breath and let it out again. “I told her to.”

“Oh. Fuck.”

“I… I was not a good person when I was younger. I was all hopped up on meth at the time and she had just destroyed the painting I made for my boyfriend.” Phil cleared his throat to dissuade the lump that was forming. “She didn’t deserve that. No matter how many… awful things she did to me. She didn’t deserve that.”

"...Hey, dad?"

Phil tried to subtly wipe his eyes as he looked over at Tommy.

Tommy was picking at his nails.  
"Have you ever wanted to kill yourself?"

Phil immediately focused back on the road. He took a few moments to steady his breath. “I, uh, almost succeeded four times.”

Tommy blinked away the coming tears. He loved his dad. "When was the most recent attempt?"

He was quiet for a while. When he spoke, his voice cracked. “The day after Techno overdosed.”

Tommy leaned over the center console, and wrapped his arms around his father's shoulders. Eventually, small whimpers and sniffles came from him, as he let tears slide down his cheeks.

Phil pulled off of the freeway and stopped the car at the side of the road. He pulled Tommy closer, one hand gently holding the back of his head.  
“I’m sorry, Tommy. I wasn’t thinking. I promise I’ll never do that to you, okay?”

Tommy cried for a bit longer before he could string together words.  
"Please don't. I can't- dad, I need you." It may have felt otherwise for a while now, but Tommy wasn't sure if he would be able to handle himself without Phil's presence in his life.

“I’m not going to,” Phil whispered, softly rubbing Tommy’s back. “I promise. You have to promise me too, okay? I need you just as much as you need me.”

Tommy choked on his heart when it caught in his throat. Phil didn't know, did he? Regardless, Tommy shook his head. But he couldn't bring himself to say anything resembling a promise.  
Instead, he deflected, drawing the attention elsewhere. "Wilbur's suicidal now. He told me."

Phil sighed. “Do you think if someone else had raised him he wouldn’t be?”

"I- I dunno." Tommy wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. "I think he might just be fucked." Tommy held himself back from telling Phil that he knew Wilbur hated him.

For a few moments, Phil just looked at him, brows furrowed. “Tommy.”

"What?" Tommy pouted. "It's true! He tried to- oh, no. Shouldn't say that." Phil raised an eyebrow. "He tried to..." he tried to make a suicide pact with Tommy, "he tried to kill himself because of something his boyfriend said, and then said he was just being overdramatic. His thinking is weird." Tommy knew he sounded awful, but he was trying to save face. Both for himself, and his brother.

“Jesus,” Phil sighed. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ.” He wiped his eyes. “That’s not what I was getting on you for, though.” He looked at Tommy. “You need to promise.”

"Oh." Tommy blinked. "Okay, sorry. Yeah, I promise." If anything happened, it wouldn't be Tommy's first time breaking a promise.

Phil let himself smile a little. “Thank you.” He sighed and leaned against his seat. “Jesus. That conversation got a bit heavy.”

"Yeah, fuck." Tommy sniffled one last time. He hated how much he had been crying lately. "...So, Ezekiel's witch store, huh?" he looked over at his father with a grin.

“Uh, sure, yeah.” Phil nodded and turned the car on again. “Jesus. I haven’t cried in like a year.”

"Sorry," he laughed, and finally turned on the auditory directions to reach the shop since they were near the city. "That was weirdly nice."

“Yeah, it was. Cathartic.” Phil laughed a little. “I love you, Tommy. I really do. You know I’d do anything for you.” He said, looking over with a smile.

"I love you too dad. Can I say, like, one last heavy thing and then we'll be on our merry way?"

He raised an eyebrow. “Go ahead?”

"You say you'd do anything for me. Does that include..." Tommy took a shaky inhale, "could you try to stop drinking? Or is that... too much?"

Phil focused back on the road. His hands gripped the steering wheel tight. After a while of silence, he spoke. “I’m trying.”

"Okay. I love you, dad."

A moment of hesitation. “I love you too, Tommy.”

Tommy stepped into the shop for the second time. It was odd. He was in a totally different headspace this time around, but the store looked largely the same. He glanced to the counter to see who was working the front.

Ezekiel noticed him almost immediately, practically hopping over the counter to see him.  
“Tommy! Oh my goodness, how are you?”

"Ezekiel! My man! I'm well!" He reached out and hugged the employee. "Thank God. I actually wasn't sure you still worked here!"

“Of course I do! I got promoted to assistant manager, I’ll have you know.” Ezekiel hugged him back and grinned.

"Oh! Moving up in the world!" Tommy patted him on the back, before pulling away.  
"Ezekiel, meet my father, Phil Watson," Tommy gestured to the man behind him.

Ezekiel visibly tensed, eyes wide. He forced a grin and offered his hand to shake. Phil shook it and offered a nod.  
“So, what’re you two here for? Techno is on a break right now, I can go get him if you like.”

Tommy blinked. Looked at his father.  
"I didn't know Tech works here?"

“Uh, yeah, he has since he moved in with me. He never mentioned it?” Ezekiel asked.

"I, uh... don't talk to him often," Tommy rubbed the back of his neck.

“Oh…” Ezekiel nodded. “Do you want me to get him? I think he’s upstairs.”

Tommy looked at his dad. "Uh...."

Phil grimaced. “Maybe just tell him we said hi? Tommy, is there anything you wanted to get from here?”

"No, I'm good. I'm saving my money, anyways." He waved to Ezekiel. "Sorry, dude. Have a good one!"

“Uh, okay, I’ll see you around!” Ezekiel waved too as they left.

“Jesus, I don’t know the first thing about him, do I?” Phil cursed himself under his breath as they got in the car again.

"I didn't know either," Tommy slammed the door behind him, and ran his fingers back through his hair. He laughed to dispel his nerves. "Jesus, that's awkward."

Phil hesitated. “Should we say hi to him? No, he probably wouldn’t appreciate that.”

"Would he be more upset if he heard we were here and didn't see him, though?"

“I- I don’t know. Do you want to go in and say hi? I can go get a coffee or something while you do that, you could text me when you’re done.”

"Oh, smart. And then I can ask if he'd wanna see you or not. If yes, then you, like, can," Tommy schemed.

“Good idea, good idea. Do you need some money to buy stuff or anything?” Phil suggested.

"Nah," he patted his pocket. "I'm not actually saving money." He laughed. "Jesus, okay. We got a plan. Go team?" He put out his hand over the center console.

Phil laughed and batted his hand away. “Just go. Text me when you’re done, okay?”

"Aye-aye, captain!" Tommy saluted before he hopped out of the car.

The door chimed once more as Tommy strode in, laughing. "Change of plans, actually. Maybe I will hang out for a bit, Mr. Zeke."

Ezekiel raised an eyebrow, and Techno, who was standing next to him, lit up like a floodlight.  
“Tommy!” He grinned and ran over, pulling him into a bone crushing hug. He had always been big and strong, but he had apparently only gotten stronger since Tommy had seen him at Christmas, because he knocked the wind out of him with ease.

Tommy went into a fit that was half-laughter, half-coughing. "Big T!" he wheezed out, and hugged Techno. He had been getting a nice amount of hugs that day.

“Holy shit, E said you left, I thought I missed you!” Techno pulled away and looked Tommy up and down. “Oh my god, how are you? What’re ya doin’ here?”

Tommy shoved his hands in his pockets, smiling. "Just visiting, bored, you know. Dad took me into LA today so I figured we could swing by."

Techno frowned for a second before he brushed it off. “Right, okay. Is he… waiting for you, or somethin’?”

"Yeah, sorta. He can come in if you want him to. Otherwise? Just you, me, and Ezekiel." He glanced around. "And anyone else who may or may not be in this store."

Techno hesitated. “Let’s go upstairs. I wanna catch up with you.”

"Right on!" Tommy cheered, and followed Techno upstairs.

The upstairs was a bit different than how he remembered it, what had once been a green room of plants and hanging crystals was now a blend of warm and cool tones, statuettes and candles on every surface.  
“Do you want anything to drink?” Techno asked.

"No, I'm not really thirsty." Tommy sank into a cushy armchair. "Man. So how are you?"

“Uh, I’m… I’m doing alright.” Techno said, making himself a cup of tea. “How are you? I’ve been kinda worried, haven’t really heard from you since that thing with Wilbur a couple months ago.”

"Yeah," Tommy laughed a bit. "Sorry about that. I've been alright, spending lots of time with Tubbo and Sapnap. Thinking about just switching to bud instead of buying carts all the time."

Techno nodded. “Just keep in mind it’s still a carcinogen. It’s still gonna hurt your lungs.”

"Isn't everything a carcinogen in the state of California?" he smirked. "God. I gotta... I really wanna start thinking about getting top surgery. I'm sick of wearing binders. Those hurt my lungs more than weed ever did."

“Mm, same. I’m workin’ like ten hours a day right now and it’s hell on my ribs.” Techno sighed and sat down beside him with his tea.

"Ten hours a day? Shit. Giving into the system, huh?" he joked.

“Yeah, not all of us are pretty twinks that can land a sugar daddy to pave the way.” Techno scoffed.

"That's what I'm saying! God. That day was absolute fucking hell," Tommy admitted.

“What, the day you hung out with Wilbur?”

"Yeah. Christ," he shook his head. "Something's wrong with that kid."

“Mm, I can’t find it in me to disagree.” Techno sighed. “How’s your summer going?”

"Pretty boring, honestly. I don't really wanna go back to school," he shrugged.

“You should drop out. Go to the continuation school, the workload is way easier.”

"You're a bad influence. ...I'll think about it," Tommy winked.

Techno huffed a laugh. “So how is… Phil?” He asked, setting his tea on the table.

"I mean... not any better than usual. He's sober today, though. And we had a really enlightening talk in the car." He started picking at his nails. "He wants to stop drinking."

“Oh…” Techno watched his hands. “That’s good.”

"It is." Tommy looked up Techno, "Did you know he was abused as a kid?"

Techno shifted a little. “No, I didn’t know that. It tracks, though.”

"He also used to use meth, so..." Tommy sighed, "I kinda see why his boundaries are what they are."

“Christ,” Techno mumbled. “Yeah, that explains a lot. How did you find this out? He just told you?”

"Yeah. So... I dunno. I've been pissed at him for a while. It's nice for him to finally be kinda open, though. And like... I love him a lot right now. He tried to-" Tommy cut himself off. He didn't need Techno feeling guilty about Phil's attempt.  
"He made me promise I wouldn't kill myself. Which is like, really funny, because I'm not even suicidal."

Techno watched him for a moment. “I wanted to talk to you about that.”

"Uh oh." Tommy settled in a little more, in preparation for the conversation. "Alright. Shoot."

“I… I know you say you’re not, and I believe you, but I just…” Techno sighed and leaned back in the seat. “It’s really easy to slip into suicidal ideation. I want to make sure that you know it’s okay to ask for help if that happens.”

"I know, I know," Tommy waved a dismissive hand. "Trust me. If I seriously was, I would've reached out to you."

Techno hesitated, making eye contact with his brother. “Would you?”

"Yes," Tommy hissed. "I promise."

Techno looked away, subconsciously scratching his arm. “You’re not exactly known to keep your promises, Tommy.”

"Ouch. Are you calling me unreliable, Tech?"

“Only by means of your own previously exhibited behaviour.”

"Listen. I know I've like... said stuff to worry you. But I wouldn't." Tommy found himself wondering how high the window was from the ground. He ruffled his hair to distract from the thoughts.

Techno sighed. “Okay. Just please reach out to me if that changes, y’know?” He sipped his tea. “How long do you have here? Do you wanna smoke a bowl?”

"I do," Tommy grinned. "I can chill for a while. Dad just told me to text him when I was done."

“Sweet. I’m gonna let E know I’m taking my lunch break now, then.” Techno said, getting up and heading downstairs.

Tommy nodded, and watched him walk out.

He couldn't stop wondering how high off the ground he was.

He gave in and pushed himself out of the chair, wandered over to the window, and looked down. He would probably break his neck or skull if he jumped from here, he decided, and went back to his seat. He needed this bowl so bad.

Techno returned a few minutes later with a bong. “Uh, just so you know, we have smoked a lot of tobacco blends out of this, so there’s probably some residue.”

"That's whatever," Tommy shrugged. "I'm totally out, and Sap's in Texas, so I've been itching for a few hits."

“Sapnap sells now?” Techno asked as he packed the bowl.

"No, no, I just buy through him. I, uh... I don't like seeing Schlatt much."

“Why don’t you like seeing Schlatt?”

"I mean, there's a few reasons. I just get bad vibes from him, though."

“Bad vibes? I’ve never gotten bad vibes from him.”

"He... he's the one who sold you heroin, wasn't he?"

Techno hesitated. “I forced him to.”

"He also pulled a gun on Dream."

“Dream is a bitch.” Techno laughed and lit the bowl, taking a long hit before passing it to Tommy.

"It was still a gun?" Tommy took it. "Like... he could have actually died." He lit up and took a long hit, then exhaled. He missed the feeling of smoke traveling up his throat. He took one more drag before passing it back to his brother.

“Schlatt doesn’t have the balls to kill anyone.” He laughed again. “I’ve seen him in front of his bosses. He’s a pussy.”

Tommy laughed at that. "Still don't really wanna see him. I dunno. I might ask Tubbo to pick up for me- or maybe I'll just bite the bullet. We'll see."

“Or you could go sober,” Techno suggested with a shit-eating grin. “I’m kiddin’. I wouldn’t wish that on you.”

Tommy let out a hefty sigh. "Holy shit, you scared me for a moment there."

He laughed a bit more. “So, how’s Tubbo?”

"They're good! They, uh... yeah. Things have been sorta shitty for them lately, so I've just been trying to be there for them."

Techno nodded and took another long hit before passing it to Tommy. “How so?”

"Fundy's a piece of shit. Kinda like... Wilbur. Eret's never home... Fundy's into coke, too. They're addicted to nicotine. All that." He breathed in more from the bong.

Techno hissed through his teeth. “Yeesh. That’s rough. Tubbo’s addicted to nic now?”

"Yeah, they're like, constantly vaping. I've... honestly done it before, but it really isn't for me. I'd rather spend my cash on weed," he explained, passing it back to Techno.

He nodded and finished the bowl, setting the bong on the table.  
“That’s sad. I always had a feeling Fundy would influence them.”

"Yeah... I just..." he bit his lip, "what would you do if you were me and Tubbo started doing coke too? They haven't, I'm just... worried."

Techno stared at him. “You did coke?”

"No!" his eyes widened. "I said 'too' because of Fundy!"

Techno blinked slowly. “You did coke.”

Tommy laughed, bitter. "No I didn't?"

“I’ve known you since you were fuckin’ six, dude. You’ve literally never proposed an actual hypothetical in your life. You and Tubbo did coke.” Techno leveled a deadpan stare at him.

"Only once," he brought a hand to his face. He needed to stop bringing up hypotheticals to his brothers.  
"Well, I only did it once. Fucking hated it- that was actually the night Wilbur picked me up. That's why I had a panic attack. Tubbo though... ugh."

Techno sighed and leaned back, putting an arm over Tommy’s shoulders to gently play with his hair. “They’re addicted?”

"I don't know. I think so... yeah. Yeah, they are," he groaned.

“You gotta get them outta that house, man. I can’t imagine living with Fundy, the dude made me suicidal after like ten minutes in English with him one time.”

Tommy snorted, even though he knew Techno was probably at least a little serious. "I dunno, the house has been feeling... really empty. You don't think- you don't think dad would let them move in, do you?"

Techno shrugged. “I dunno. The way Phil thinks is an enigma to me.”

"That's true. Maybe if I just... don't mention the fact that Tubbo's on cocaine. I mean... they practically already live there anyways?" Tommy shrugged. "Remember how I used to go to their house, literally all the time? I had my own toiletries there and everything?"

Techno nodded, his eyes hazily half shut as he gently stroked Tommy’s hair.

"Yeah, the turntables have tableturned. Half 'cause they share a room with Fundy, half 'cause dad's never around to stop us from smoking, really." Tommy subconsciously leaned his head into his brother's touch. "Are you gonna get in trouble for smoking on the job?"

“Nah, I’ve got a license.” Techno sighed. “Are you gonna get in trouble with Phil?”

"No, I actually just told him I've started smoking pot. Sometime after he told me his mom cut him with a broken bottle when he was little, and before he told me he's attempted four times."

Techno blinked a few times. “What?” He asked, looking down at him.

"Yeah, man. The drive here- very cathartic, yeah? Draining as fuck, too."

“No, what? Attempted suicide?”

"Yeah, isn't that what I said?"

“Phil? He attempted suicide?”

"Yes. Four times," he repeated.

Techno blinked slowly, trying to process it. “Fuck.”

"The whole reason he ever adopted us is because... he was us. Which kinda hurts, now." He leaned into his brother a little more. "I told Wilbur... I told Wilbur I wish we were never a family."

Techno sighed, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. “Why did you say that?”

"He told me he hoped I would kill myself."

His brother froze. “Are you fuckin’ serious?”

"In all fairness, I-I did tell him I wish he died when he overdosed. A-and then I told him I wished he'd kill himself again, after he said his thing." Tommy kept his eyes shut. He couldn't risk looking at Techno. He couldn't risk letting tears spill.

For a moment there was silence, before Tommy felt a hard smack at the back of his head.  
“You’re better than that. You know you’re better than that.”

Tommy leaned forward, and scooted away from Technoblade. He brought his hand to the back of his hand. "Fuck! I know. I know I am, I'm sorry, I was just- that was the day after I did coke, and blacked out for the first time, and he was yelling at me and I just-" his mouth was moving a million miles a minute, trying to conjure up justifications and excuses.

“So you stooped to his level? Fuckin’ hell, Tommy.” Techno scoffed and looked away.

"I know! I know, I'm sorry, I just- fuck, Tech. I kind of hate him."

Techno sighed and ran his hands over his face. “You shouldn’t hate him. He’s just hurting.”

"I know, I know, but- I'm hurting too. I just think he hurts me more."

His brother shifted in his seat, taking Tommy’s hands in his own. “Look. Tommy. Look at me.” Tommy did, somewhat begrudgingly.  
“Trying to make people feel as hurt as you do is gonna leave you alone in the world.” Techno said, looking in his eyes.

"Are you gonna tell me I need to forgive him?"

“Fuck no. I’m just tellin’ you you can’t try to hurt him as much as he hurts you.”

"Okay." Tommy looked away. "...Did you want to see dad, or no?"

Techno grimaced and leaned back against the seat. “Not really. I don’t really care for what he has to say to me.”

"I... get it. Maybe it's just 'cause I'm still stuck with the dude, so I have some more unwitting sympathy for him, but... I really do think he's just hurting, too. He's been hurt for, like, a really long time." Tommy pulled fully away from Techno.

“I… I guess. I don’t support kickin’ your kids out just ‘cause they fell on some hard times.” Techno huffed.

"He's- he's been through the hard times. It's not like he was malicious in it. I definitely agree, it was fucked of him, but hey! It worked! You and Wil are both clean now, even if you smoke and drink. That's, like, nothing."

Techno hesitated, absentmindedly scratching his arms. “Yeah… I guess. I was lucky, though. If Ezekiel hadn’t taken me as a roommate I would’ve been homeless. I definitely wouldn’t’ve gotten clean in that scenario.”

"But... Ezekiel was there to take you in. So." Tommy let the statement hang in the air a moment, before he stood and pulled out his phone. "I think... I'm gonna go."

His brother nodded. “Yeah, okay. Thanks for stopping by.” Techno stood with a sigh and led him back downstairs.

"Thank you for the bong rips," he joked with a smile, keeping his eyes cast down on his phone.

TommyInnit: im ready to be picked up father  
TommyInnit: sorry he doesnt wanna see you. tried talking him into it

"Maybe I'll actually buy something next time," Tommy suggested, because he did want to visit again soon.

“Uh, yeah.” Techno nodded, his tone quiet and his hands shoved in his pockets.

Philza: Omw

"I- promise I'll try to text more, too. I know I always say I will, and then just..." Tommy hit the top of his head a few times to try and get his point across.

Techno nodded again. He gave a short wave, silent, before he turned and went into the back of the shop.

Philza: Here

Tommy thought about shouting a "love you" to Techno from across the store, but decided against it.

"Did you get me anything?" Tommy asked his father immediately upon leaving. He wondered if Phil would smell the smoke clinging to his shirt.

“I got a mocha. I don’t know how you like your coffee, but I know you like hot chocolate, so…” Phil shrugged.

Tommy's face lit up. "You know me so well even when you don't," he grabbed the drink and immediately started drinking it, coping with the cotton mouth.

“Are you high?” Phil asked.

"I'm sorry, only a little," he raked his fingers back through his hair, blinking slowly as he thought through his words. "I haven't smoked in like, a week, and today's been sorta rough."

Phil sighed. “Is there anything else you want to do in LA, or are we heading home?”

Tommy hummed. "Was there nothing you wanted to do?"

He hesitated for a moment. “I don’t like that I drove you out to LA just for you to get high with Technoblade and his roommate. I don’t approve of this.”

"Ezekiel didn't smoke with us," he laughed. "Well, we can... do other stuff here. I'm not super great at ideas- oh! Gamestop? You wanna drive me out to LA for Gamestop and Starbucks?"

Phil was quiet for a bit, clearly trying to work through his irritation. “How about we pick up some food and go to the beach instead? We could stop by the house and pick up some swim suits.”

Tommy sucked air in through his teeth. "The beach sounds fun. I dunno about swimming, though."

“No? Why not, I thought you loved swimming?” Phil asked as he pulled back onto the highway.

"Well, I..." Tommy sighed before laughing, "it's kind of stupid."

“What is it?”

"I just don't like wearing swim suits. You know, they make me feel like a girl." Tommy hated opening up about his dysphoria- surprising, for how much it affected him. It just all felt embarrassing to admit.

“Oh,” Phil nodded. “What if we got you some trunks and a wet shirt?”

"I dunno. Because then we have the whole chest debacle still. I know GC2B is like... designed to get wet, but swimming just doesn't sound fun at that point."

“Hm,” Phil was quiet for a while. “I’m sorry.”

"It's not your fault." And then, he asked the question he'd been pondering for months: "When do you think I can get top surgery?"

“Uh… I mean, we’d have to get you in to see a gender therapist, but after that… whenever a spot is available, I guess.”

A glimmer of hope shone within Tommy. "Well, then, when can I see a gender therapist?"

“When do you want to?”

"Is ASAP an acceptable answer?"

“Yeah, of course. I can call around tomorrow.”

"Wait," Tommy straightened up and gazed over at his father, "tomorrow?!"

Phil looked over, a little surprised. “Yeah, sure?”

Tommy felt euphoria pumping through his veins. He wasn't sure if it was the good news, or the weed, but he hadn't been this happy in a while.

"God," he leaned back as he laughed from pure joy. "I love you, dad. Today's been great. Tough, but great."

Phil laughed a little too. “I love you too, Tommy. You know all you had to do was ask, right?”

"Yeah, I dunno. I was kinda nervous you'd say no."

“Why on earth would I say no?”

"Maybe it'd be too much money, or... no, wait, you wouldn't remember that."

“What? What wouldn’t I remember?”

"That night you blacked out that we were talking about earlier? You, uh... you deadnamed Techno."

Phil faltered. He glanced over at Tommy, his brows furrowed and his eyes wide. “What? No, no, I wouldn’t do that.”

Tommy remembered the entire night with painful clarity. The sharpness of the images in his mind cut into his psyche, and that particular moment stung. "Yeah. I was surprised, too. So I just sorta... took it to heart a bit." He stared out the window. "I'm sorry."

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ.” Phil sighed, leaning back in his seat a little. “No, I… I’m sorry. God. I need to apologize to him.”

"Probably," Tommy shrugged a single shoulder, and didn't appreciate the way the haze on the edges of his mind began to fray.  
"Well, I still wanna go to the beach. Maybe we can just picnic or something?"

“Uh, yeah. Yeah. What do you want to get for food?” Phil asked, blinking forcefully to try to shake himself out of it.

"Uh..." Tommy thought to himself. "I dunno, I'm a teenage boy. I'll kinda eat anything, so it's up to you."

“How about Panda Express?”

"Sounds good to me," Tommy agreed.

Phil nodded and let out a shaky breath. “I didn’t mean to do that. I never would have done that if- if I was…”

"I believe you," Tommy sighed. "You still did it, though."

Tommy took his shoes off on the sidewalk, so he could feel his toes dig into the sand. He was holding the blanket they were going to lay out, and Phil had their bags of food.

"Thank you again for everything today," Tommy smiled at his dad.

“No problem,” Phil smiled back as he set everything down. “I don’t think I’ve actually been here since Wilbur was like, fourteen.”

Tommy spread the blanket out. "Yeah, I haven't been here in a bit." He sat down, and started to dig through the bags for his food.

Phil sighed as he sat down too, taking his Hydroflask out of his backpack and taking a drink. “Do you want to look for cool rocks?”

Tommy hummed. "Maybe in a bit. I'm pretty hungry, though," he smiled. After all, he never did quite satiate his munchies until now. He found his container of fried rice and dug in.

After they finished their food, Phil went to the shoreline to look for anything interesting.

Tommy followed him. As an innate habit he reached for his pen, before reminding himself there was no point. No matter.

Tommy rolled his jeans up before they got too close to the water, just so the legs wouldn't get wet. He crouched over to investigate the sand, search for rocks, shells, sand dollars. He wasn't having much luck.

“Look here,” Phil muttered, picking up a clump of sand in his hands. “Watch.” He gently let the water take the sand away, leaving a little sandcrab in his palms.

Tommy gasped, his smile wide. "Hey, little guy... can I?" he held out his hand.

Phil nodded and handed it to him. “What’s his name?”

"Tommy Jr.," he proudly proclaimed. He let the crab scuttle around on his hand, before gently lowering him back to the ground. "God, I love him. I'm gonna miss him."

“It’s alright, he loves you too. He’ll remember you.” Phil smiled. “Let’s go to the rocks and see if we can find some anemones.”

Once again, Tommy followed his father, the two of them just enjoying their time on the beach. Enjoying their time together.

As the time crawled past, Tommy thought he noticed his father becoming loopier and loopier. He'd stumble over his words, over his feet. Tommy swallowed hard as the sun was setting.

"Hey dad?" Tommy eventually piped up while they were strolling along the length of the shoreline. "Can I have a sip of your water?"

“Hm? You’ve got your own, don’t you?” Phil glanced over.

Tommy unscrewed his lid and held it upside down. Nothing came out.

Phil hesitated. “Let’s go back to the picnic blanket, we’ve got more water there.”

"What? That's, like, a whole walk. No bad germs between family, right?" Tommy knew what was up, he wasn't stupid. He just wanted confirmation.

“Come on, ‘s getting late anyway, we should head home.” Phil said, starting to walk back towards their spot.

"Do you even have water in there?" Tommy's brows furrowed down.

Phil stared at him, then looked away and kept walking. “Don’ ask stupid questions.”

Tommy groaned. "You're drinking, I know you are!"

“Leave it alone, Tommy.” Phil warned.

"I'll drive us home."

“I’m fine to drive, it’s fine.” Phil said, taking a long drink from his Hydroflask now that he knew the jig was up.

"Dad, I don't- I don't want you driving me," he crossed his arms. "Either you let me drive, or I'll call someone to pick me up."

“I can drive, Tommy, I’m tellin’ you it’s fine. I’ve driven a lot drunker than this.” Phil insisted, his hands fumbling as he tried to pack their things up.

Tommy stared at his father for a few moments, before he started to help pick everything up. "That's not a good thing? Didn't you promise me just fucking earlier you wouldn't kill yourself?"

“I’m not gonna fuckin’ kill myself, Tommy! I’m a very safe driver.” Phil glared at his son as they put everything away in the car.

"Dad," Tommy looked down at his father, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Can you please just- let me drive? I'm sober now."

Phil stared at him, brows furrowed with wounded pride. He hesitated for a moment, then handed him the keys and got in the passenger side.

Tommy sat in the driver's seat of his father's car. He hated this role reversal, but he put his keys in the ignition and started the drive home.

The ride was silent. Tommy didn't dare say anything in fear of breaking down the trust he had harvested over the course of the day. If he were being honest, he felt like he already lost the respect for his father that he had built back up.

Tommy handed the keys back to his father once they pulled into the driveway. He didn't bother to say thanks, or that he loved Phil, before making his way into the house and locking himself away in his room. Tommy caught a glance at the mirror.

He looked like shit. Tubbo had a point about his clothes; they were boring, just like Tommy. The bags under Tommy’s eyes had only gotten worse over the years. His face was too soft, his hair was dull and unwashed and too long, his fucking body was not right in the slightest. He stared into his reflection’s eyes, and Tommy was nowhere to be seen. He was looking right at Emily.

He had to blink and look away to fend off the incoming thoughts, because no, he knew he was Tommy. Even his bullies had given up on misgendering him, everybody knew he was a guy- so why was it so hard for him to believe? Was it the way he couldn’t feel right without squashing his ribs? Was it the way that his high-pitched shriek of a laugh made him feel like curling up and dying? Maybe it was the fact that he couldn’t find it in himself to look presentable without feeling as though he was too girly. After all, looking nice was a feminine thing. Or, maybe that was some sort of internalized misogyny, but he didn’t deserve looking good either way. He wasn’t deserving of very much in life, he discovered.

He shed the day's sweaty clothes, shut off his lights, and collapsed on his bed, desperate to not look at himself anymore.

He might be getting a gender therapist soon. That was exciting. But he was relying on his father for that, his father who he could never fucking trust when he started drinking. He couldn't even believe his dad would follow through on calling for an appointment the next day. He couldn't trust him anymore.

Tommy let red hot tears slip down the sides of his face, and cursed himself for biting his nails so short. Otherwise he would have felt it more when he scratched at his chest. He could've left more meaningful marks.

Maybe he could just kill himself instead.

He shook his head at the thought. Sure, everything was fucking awful, and he hated himself, and his body looked wrong, but he made Phil and Techno a promise. If he couldn't keep just this one, he'd really be the worst Watson, and he couldn't bear the thought. He hated how right his family was about him. He hated his dad, he hated his brothers. He hated that he was following in their footsteps, repeating all the same mistakes they had always made. He hated the fact that he could go for a line or two of coke. He hated, he hated, he hated. Tommy had become so full of hatred he felt like he could rip himself apart at the seams. He wanted to bring the world with him.

“I really am a Watson.”

Tommy was a Watson, and he needed something to help him survive. He reached for his phone, squinting at the bright light illuminating his room.

TommyInnit: schlatt  
TommyInnit: hello  
TommyInnit: how much do you charge for weed again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> 
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	5. buzzed, gross, and wholly unloved

Tommy drove out to Schlatt's in pajamas. It was late, he felt filthy, and didn't want to get a whole other outfit dirty today.

He rapped on the front door, then took a few steps back. He glanced down the street, drank in all the details of the line of houses surrounding him, the lawns, the cracks in the road. This was the porch his brothers used to stand on. The porch where he was sure Wilbur had made his petty and cracked yelling known to the whole neighborhood. The porch where Techno would wait, itchy-armed and pocket full of cash. Tommy waited here, now, desperate to fill his brain with THC before he filled it with lead. He supposed there was some value to the idea of history repeating itself.

It was difficult, filling their shoes in their absence.

The door opened with no amount of grandiosity for the way Tommy felt. Schlatt had a beer in hand, he barely looked at the other as he waved him inside.

“You wanted an eighth, yeah?” His words came out as a grumble. Tommy halfheartedly wondered if it was because of the late hour or the fact it was him. Maybe both.

"Yeah," Tommy followed along inside, glancing around. It was messier than the last time he had visited with Tubbo. "You said thirty-five?"

“Mhm,” Schlatt sipped his beer before setting it down on the table. He pulled a small prescription bottle with the bud in it out of his pocket and waited for the money, eyes lazily half-lidded and unamused.

"Here you are," Tommy thrust cash in Schlatt's direction, before taking the bottle. "Thanks, mate."

Schlatt took it and pocketed it. “Mhm, no problem.” He sighed. “Hey, listen. You’re good friends with Tubbo, yeah?”

"Best friends... why?" Tommy crossed his arms, not exactly expecting to loiter around. He didn't plan on hanging out here too long: he didn't wanna fall for whatever traps Schlatt had that kept his brothers in this house for hours on end, back in the day.

Schlatt sighed and picked the beer up again. “They’re doin’ blow, right?”

"Huh?" Tommy was genuinely caught off-guard. He wasn't going to air his best friend's dirty laundry, though. "No. What makes you say that?"

“No- Tommy, look. I want you to be honest with me, okay? I know they’re doin’ blow, because they were stealin’ it from me. I let them do it for a while, because they were taking small enough amounts that it didn’t affect me too much, and I didn’t wanna call them out on it. But then the amount they were takin’ got bigger, up until a week ago. They just stopped. I’m worried they went to another dealer.” Schlatt explained, his brows furrowed together with a worry he wouldn’t admit.

"...Oh." Tommy sighed. He guessed they were having this conversation. "Okay, I don't- I don't know, honestly. I know they use, yeah, but they don't talk about it much with me. Should I be keeping tabs?"

Schlatt hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “I-I dunno. Is there a way you could ask them, like, without being too obvious?”

"I can try. For sure." He chewed his lip. "I wasn't ever expecting them to get into... that."

The other took a swig of his beer and nodded in agreement. “I was hoping they wouldn’t, but I had a feeling Fundy was gonna get them into it.” He sighed. “You’ll keep an eye on them, yeah?”

"I'll try my hardest... could I have a beer?"

Schlatt huffed a laugh. “Sure. Eight ‘o five or Dos Equis?” He asked, going to the fridge and opening it.

"Whichever one tastes better," Tommy waved a hand. He wasn't a big fan of beer, so he'd need all the help he could with getting it down.

“Dos Equis it is,” Schlatt said, handing him a bottle that matched his own. “You gonna drink it at home or here? If you drink it here, I’m gonna make you wait a while before you drive.”

Tommy knew he was making a bad decision. "Here, probably. I don't wanna go home right yet. You'd think that with Wil and Techno gone, things would be better, huh?"

Schlatt shrugged. “They’re alright. I didn’t expect Phil to go off the deep end, though.” He nodded to the couch and sat down.

Tommy followed. "Yeah. He was sober all day today and I thought things were good- next thing you know, he's trying to drive us home drunk. Just... man." He took a long sip, already feeling his inhibitions begin to loosen. "They really fucked him up."

Schlatt wrinkled his nose. “I dunno if I’d say that they fucked him up. They were kinda goin’ through rough patches, and he did literally sign up to be their dad.”

"I know, I know, but fuckin'... Wilbur still likes to pretend I can't possibly be, like, suffering the consequences of his actions."

“That’s Wilbur for ya.” Schlatt laughed a little and took a swig. “D’you want something a little harder?”

Tommy furrowed his brows. "What?"

“Jus’ like, whiskey or something. I’m not offering you drugs.” Schlatt said, putting his hands up defensively.

"Oh," Tommy leaned forward, smiling and putting a hand over his chest. "Shit. You scared me. Uh, maybe if I can crash here tonight?"

“Uh…” Schlatt glanced at the front door. “I don’t think my dad is getting home until the day after next, so you should be fine. You don’t have anyone more fun to spend your time with?” He looked back at Tommy, a weak grin on his face.

"I just don't wanna drive," Tommy admitted with a shrug.

Schlatt’s smile faltered, but he quickly pushed past it and stood, going to one of the cabinets in the kitchen. “So, what d’ya want?”

"Uh... you wouldn't have any rum, would you?" Tommy quickly chugged down the rest of his bottle.

“Sure, I’ve got Captain Morgan, Bacardi, and Malibu.” Schlatt said, glancing back at Tommy.

"Malibu," Tommy snapped and pointed at Schlatt. "And do I gotta pay for any of this?"

“Nah, you’re fine. Call it the Watson discount.” Schlatt took one of the bottles and another for himself, then handed the Malibu to Tommy. “Neither of your brothers paid for shit either. I mean, Techno paid for his weed and heroin, but I never let him pay for booze. He’d try, but I’m stubborn to hell and back.” Schlatt snickered a little as he opened his own bottle of whiskey and took a swig.

Tommy unscrewed his cap, smirking a little. "So is Tubbo like a fourth Watson?"

Schlatt sat down beside him, scoffing. “No, they’re my family. Like, the only family I consider worthwhile.”

"Hey, they're my family, too," he gave Schlatt a light knock on the shoulder. "Wait! Shit! That reminds me- okay, can I ask your opinion on an idea?"

Schlatt frowned a little, but pushed it back and fronted a lazy smile. “Shoot.”

"I was thinking of asking my dad to let Tubbo move in with us," he sat up a little. "I mean, we have two empty bedrooms, they have their own job- you know? Get them away from Fundy."

Schlatt hesitated, then took a long drink from the bottle. “I dunno if Phil would go for that. Or Eret, for that matter.”

Tommy had forgotten about Eret being in the equation. "Do you think Eret knows they do coke?"

“Eret knows everything and nothing. I couldn’t tell you if you put a gun to my head.” Schlatt laughed a little and took another long drink.

"That sounds about right," Tommy nodded. "So... how have things been for you?"

Schlatt huffed a small laugh. “Fuckin’ awful. Same shit as always, but worse.”

"Hey, you don't gotta deal with Wilbur anymore. I visited him recently, he told me to kill myself," he laughed.

“Hey, my dad did the same thing! Cheers,” Schlatt grinned, offering his bottle out to Tommy.

Tommy clinked their bottles, before taking a long swig. "Old man's being a bitch, huh?"

“Always is,” Schlatt sighed, taking a long drink as well. “I ever shown you what he’s done?” He looked over at Tommy, a lazy grin accompanying his somewhat slurred words.

Tommy raised a quizzical eyebrow. "No?"

“Look’t this,” Schlatt pulled up the sleeve of his shirt and showed him his wrist, which was peppered with small circular scars. “Cig burns, f’r every time I talk back to ‘im.” A few were more recent, one even still blistering.

Tommy's eyes widened. "Holy shit. My dad had the same thing done to him." Tommy never would have fathomed the act of putting cigarettes out on other people would be so prevalent. "Fuck dude, 'm sorry."

Schlatt just laughed and took another long swig. “‘S fine, I’m used to it. What am I gonna do, anyway? He’s my dad.” He pulled his sleeve back down.

"You could move out," Tommy proposed.

“Nah, I’m the one ‘at pays rent. He’d be homeless.” Schlatt shrugged.

"Well, it's not like he respects you," Tommy slugged the rest of his Malibu, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He dried his hand on his pajama pants.

Schlatt faltered. “Of course he respects me. Why d’you say that?”

"He puts cigarettes out on you, tells you to kill yourself- like, Phil's fucked, but the worst he's done is like... briefly threaten to hit me. You're paying this dude's rent and he treats you like shit."

He stared at Tommy, brows furrowed. “No, dude, you don’ know shit. My dad’s a little fucked up, but he respects me. He’s jus’ got a lot goin’ on.”

"Phil does too? He doesn't hurt me, though. Physically. He like, literally made me promise to not kill myself." He set the bottle down on the table. "I'm just sayin'."

“Everyone’s paren’s are different, okay?” Schlatt sighed and took a long drink. He hesitated a moment, then laughed. “Oh, fuck, I’m drunk.”

Tommy laughed with him. "Yeah, me too. Did you ever know how I started all this shit?"

“No, how? Was it Wilbur?” Schlatt looked over, raising an eyebrow.

"Nope!" He jabbed a finger in Schlatt's direction, grinning. "It was Dream!"

Schlatt laughed, “What? Dream? That piece ‘a shit got you hooked?”

"He's not that bad," Tommy insisted. "Was him, George, and Sapnap. I've actually been buying from you through Sap for a while now. Carts. Did he ever say they were for me?"

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ.” Schlatt sighed. “He never said that, no. Can’t b’lieve you’re friends with those assholes.”

"I mean... I still kinda am. What's so bad about 'em?”

“They’re jus’ dicks, from what I know. I mean shit, you’re fuckin’ Technoblade’s brother, how do you stand bein’ around Dream?”

"It was actually Tech's idea for us to become friends," he shrugged. "I was bullied pretty hard sophomore year, so they just... yeah. They protected me."

Schlatt scrunched his face up at that. “Why were you gettin’ bullied? You shoulda told me, not gone t’ Dream.”

"Was nerdy, scrawny, and trans. I dunno, should I have gone to you?" Tommy wondered how different he would be now. Maybe he wouldn't have formed any dependencies. Maybe.

“I still have s’me influence on that school,” Schlatt shrugged. “The guys that were bullyin’ you were pr’bly buyin’ from me, anyway.”

"True... you're like, the biggest seller here, aren't you?"

“Mhm. Got it aaall wrapped around m’ finger.” Schlatt took another swig, before leaning forward and scrunching his eyes closed. “Fuck,” he grumbled, resting his head in one hand.

"Glad to be a VIP customer, then," Tommy smiled. The expression quickly fell. "You alright, mate?"

Schlatt made a small noise of pain, before coughing and nodding, sitting back up. “Fuck. Sorry. Jus’ dizzy.”

"Have you drank too much?" the teen cocked his head to the side.

He laughed a little, taking another long drink. “Yeah, prob’ly.”

Tommy stumbled to his feet, and walked with uneven steps to the kitchen. He filled a glass with water for Schlatt, and brought it back to him. Tommy had done this enough times for his dad, for George, for Dream, that it just felt like second-nature at this point.

Schlatt took it and sipped it, scrunching his eyes together. “Thanks.” He sighed and reclined in the seat.

The front door’s lock started to jostle. Schlatt sat upright immediately, eyes wide.  
“Fuck- Fuck! You have to go.” He hurried up, taking Tommy by the arm and dragging him to his bedroom. “Slip out the window, okay?”

Tommy heard the front door open.  
“Jay?” A deep voice called into the house.

Schlatt looked petrified. “Call someone to drive you home, okay? You have to go.” He whispered. Tommy nodded in acknowledgement.

“Jay, where the fuck are you?!” The voice boomed through the halls. Tommy watched Schlatt shut his bedroom door behind him. But he had never met Schlatt's dad before, or even heard the man. So he took a seat on Schlatt's bed, made himself comfortable, and strained to listen.

“Here, sir.” Schlatt’s voice was quiet, formal like Tommy had never heard it before.

“Are you fucking drunk, Jay?”

“No, sir.”

A muffled sound. Tommy couldn’t quite place what it was.

“Fucking lying piece of shit!” Another, louder sound. Tommy recognised it as a palm hitting the side of someone’s face.  
“Why’s all this fuckin’ booze out, then? Do you think I’m a moron?”

“No, sir.” Schlatt’s voice was barely above a whisper, Tommy had to press his ear to the door to hear it.  
“I’m sorry, sir.”

“The house is a mess, Jay, what the fuck is this? What if I had been the FBI, you woulda had your ass in cuffs by now!”

“You’re right. I’ll do better.”

“Jesus Christ. I thought I could trust you more than this.”

A moment of silence passed.

“You can trust me.”

“Can I? Can I, Jay?” His father’s laugh was high and manic, just like his own. Something hit one of the supporting walls. “Can I trust you? Or are you gonna get the fucking feds called on us again?!”

Schlatt’s voice came out strained. “I-I’m sorry, sir, I’ll be more careful.”

Another loud thud. “You’re drunk off your ass with thousands of dollars worth of merchandise on the fucking kitchen table! You think this is careful?!” The older man was shouting so loud he panted between his words. After a few moments, his breathing quieted. When he spoke again, he was far too calm.

“Jay, is this my whiskey?”

No response came.

“Jay, is this my fucking whiskey?!” The shrill yelling was back.

“I’m sorry, I’ll buy you a new one, I-I-“

Tommy flinched at the sound of glass shattering.

“You’re lucky I don’t put a fucking bullet through your head, you ungrateful piece of shit!”

“I’m s-sorry-“

“Do not,” a thud, “fucking,” another thud, “interrupt me!”

Tommy’s stomach twisted at the sound of Schlatt crying.

“D-Dad, I’m sorry, p-please…”

“Fucking piece of shit.” The older growled. “Get the fuck out of my sight.”

Shuffling, then limping footsteps followed Schlatt back to his bedroom. He opened the door, eyes going wide when he saw Tommy. He closed the door behind him, quickly wiping his eyes, sniffling, and clearing his throat.  
“What the fuck are you still doing here?” He whispered. His hair and shirt were soaked with whiskey, peppered with shards of glass. His forehead and his arms were cut to shit, small pieces of glass drawing lines of blood that decorated his skin like rivers.

Tommy's breath hitched when he saw the sorry state Schlatt was in.  
"Holy shit, mate," he whispered, "hey, is your dad still around?"

“Yeah, he’s in the living room. You need to leave, okay?” Schlatt hissed, guiding Tommy to the window by his shoulders.

Tommy dug his heels into the floor. "Okay. You're coming with me." Maybe Tommy wasn't thinking all too straight, but he couldn't just leave Schlatt alone at home like this.

“No, Tommy, it’s fuckin’ fine.” Schlatt growled. “Just get out of here, okay?”

"Schlatt, you can spend the night at mine, it'll be fine," Tommy insisted. "I can also fix you up. Maybe. I just don't know if this place is particularly conducive to performing first aid."

Schlatt hesitated, glancing at the door, and then back to Tommy.  
“…okay. You can’t tell anyone about this, okay?”

"Why would I?" Tommy gave a slight incredulous smile. "You look like shit, dude, let's just get going already."

Schlatt gave a moment more of thought to his decisions before he opened his bedroom window and slipped out, stumbling a little.  
“Neither of us should be driving,” Schlatt whispered. “How are we gonna get to your house?”

"Well I don’t wanna leave my car here," Tommy shook his head, following behind him. "It's, like, a ten minute drive. No one's on the road right now. I'll be fine." As always, he failed to address the irony of his statement. He was too concerned for Schlatt's health to worry about being his father's daughter- son. His father's son, he reminded himself.

“No, Tommy, c’mon, that’s like a one way ticket to gettin’ dead. Can’t you call one of your friends?” Schlatt pleaded.

Tommy groaned. "Fine. I'm betting you don't want Tubbo seeing you like this, huh?" He pulled out his phone. That was fine, because his thumbs were already flying and texting somebody he knew in the area.

“No, not really. Who’re you asking?”

"Do you know Punz's little brother?"

“I’ve heard ‘m talk about him, but other than that, no.”

"Well you're about to meet him," Tommy smiled.

Not too long after, a purple Dodge Charger pulled up in front of Schlatt's house. The passenger's side window was already rolled down, where the driver waved at Tommy and called out. "You owe me a favor, Watson!"

"Yeah yeah, I know," Tommy rolled his eyes and climbed in front, leaving the whole back for Schlatt.

"So you're Schlatt, huh?" Purpled looked at the man via his rear-view.

Schlatt did his seatbelt and shifted a little in his seat, trying to keep any blood from getting on the upholstery.  
“Uh, yeah.”

Purpled noticed the mess on Schlatt just then, and sucked air in through his teeth. "Shit dude, did you guys fight or something?"

"Not us," Tommy explained. "Uh- sorry. Should I have warned you about the blood?"

"I mean, yeah. It's alright," Purpled peeled off, car roaring through the empty streets, "you just owe me, like, three favors then. And maybe twenty dollars. So I can clean the seats if he gets them dirty."

"Aw, man, what?" Tommy furrowed his eyebrows. "Two favors and twenty bucks."

"Two favors and twenty-five?" Purpled suggested.

Tommy hummed. This bartering was ridiculous. "Fine. Deal."

"Anyways, you guys smell really drunk," the driver observed.

Schlatt kept quiet, eyes focused on his hands where blood was leaking from a cut on his palm.

"...Tough crowd," Purpled gave an awkward laugh. "We haven't chilled in a bit, Tommy."

"Yeah. Sorry, man."

"It's cool. Are you free tonight?"

Tommy pursed his lips, and turned in his seat to look at Schlatt. "Uh, I mean- I kinda have things to do."

Purpled sighed. "Wow. You're making me drive you around and you're not even letting me hang? So cruel. So unjust."

"I'm literally gonna pay you!" Tommy huffed, and his friend just started laughing at that.

"I'm fucking with you dude! Relax. It's okay. Everything will be alright. Seriously, though, if you guys need anything else tonight-"

"We're fine, Purpled. But thanks," Tommy cut him off.

Nobody else talked for the rest of the ride. It was quite obvious that Purpled was uncomfortable with the energy in the car, and was more than happy to kick Tommy and Schlatt out as soon as they arrived at the Watson household. Tommy waved him off as he sped away- the kid loved flaunting his sports car.

The house was dark when they stepped inside, and Tommy showed Schlatt to the bathroom. Once in there, he shut the door so his dad wouldn't come disturb them, and dug out the first aid kit from under the sink. "I called it, by the way."

“Called what?” Schlatt asked, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

"Your dad being shit." Tommy looked Schlatt up and down, surveying the damage. "This is gonna take a bit- do you just want me to call 911?"

“What? No- No, don’t call- my dad isn’t shit.” Schlatt objected.

"Look at you, Schlatt!" he yelled, perhaps a bit louder than he intended. The alcohol didn't make him any more privy than usual to controlling his volume. "He fuckin' assaulted you is what he did." He found a pair of tweezers, and prayed to god he was following proper technique as he started on pulling the glass from Schlatt's skin.

Schlatt squeezed his eyes shut, hissing through his teeth. “Fuck, dude, do you have any booze? This hurts like a bitch.”

"Do I have booze," Tommy smirked, "I live with Phil Watson." Tommy tore off a strip of gauze, and handed it to Schlatt. "Keep that pressed on there while I grab some. You're a whiskey man, right?"

Schlatt nodded, his brows furrowed as he tried to ignore the pain.

A few minutes after Tommy left the bathroom, he came back with a bottle of Bailey's. "Hope this works," he handed it to Schlatt, "because I'm not sure how many other bottles I could get away with stealing in there."

He nodded and took it, taking a long swig. “Fuck. Alright, you can keep going.”

Tommy resumed his work. It took maybe forty-five minutes, maybe an hour- who was really counting? But soon enough, Tommy had Schlatt glass-free and bandaged up. "I think we're done. Finally. How do you feel?"

Schlatt had drained a significant amount of the bottle, so he had to blink a few times to focus in on Tommy’s face. “Huh?”

Tommy laughed a bit. "You're fucking sauced, huh?"

Schlatt laughed too, letting his head roll back against the cupboard behind him. “I think that coulda killed me.” He took another swig. “If I hadn’t blocked it. He w’s tryin’a break it on my head.”

"I can tell," Tommy grimaced. "Honestly- you smell like shit. No offense. You can shower, if you need to. I know we just got you all wrapped, but...."

“‘m jus’ gonna go to sleep,” Schlatt shrugged, laying down on the bathroom tiles.

"There?" Tommy hovered over him and tugged at his sleeve. "Come on. We can at least get you in a bed."

Schlatt nodded and sat up, taking a swig and screwing his eyes shut. He clasped a hand over his mouth and put the bottle down, practically falling over the toilet seat as he threw up into the bowl.

Tommy's eyes blew wide open as he watched the display. He turned away, giving Schlatt privacy as he puked. Once the stream ended he clapped Schlatt on the upper back. "I'm gonna get you some water."

Tommy took the bottle of whiskey with him. There was only a little bit left, which he finished off, before burying it in the trash can beneath paper plates and wrappers. He grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and headed back upstairs, unscrewing the cap before handing it to Schlatt.

The older took it thankfully, giving a short nod before taking a sip. “Where’d the… the drink go?” He asked, looking around.

"I'm cutting you off, man," Tommy shrugged. "You're already puking."

Schlatt’s face scrunched in confusion and offence. “Cutting me off? Wh’the fuck d’you think you are?”

Tommy's insides shriveled up. After everything he had done for Schlatt, the man was still getting cross with him.

Maybe Schlatt was just weak.

Actually, it wasn't a maybe in Tommy's mind. Schlatt was just plain weak. The poor sod was curled up on his bathroom floor, and looked to be about to pop a blood vessel over a shot's worth of whiskey.

"There was barely any left, Schlatt," Tommy tried to reason with him.

Schlatt frowned and looked like he was going to argue, before the color drained from his face and he puked into the toilet again.

Tommy rubbed his back as he let it all out. Schlatt was definitely very weak. He had spent a majority of his lifetime looking up to the man- even if they didn't get along great, he had always seemed so steadfast. So crafty. So strong- but he was just like everybody else, and that was disappointing. Tommy damn near began to tear up over it. He mentally reprimanded himself, instead. Tommy still felt so much like a girl, it hurt. Maybe he was weak, too.

"Are you done?" Tommy asked once the room fell back into silence.

He nodded softly, wiping his eyes. For a moment, he let out something like a sob, but he covered his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut. After a few seconds of silence, he let out a shaky sigh. “I’m good. I’m fine.” He said, his voice cracked and raw.

Tommy flushed the toilet for him, and helped him to his feet. "Okay. We're getting you to bed now. Don't, uh... don't let Phil know you're here, okay?" Tommy supported Schlatt as he staggered through the hall. "He should be gone tomorrow morning, though."

Schlatt leaned on him for support, wincing a little at the pressure on his arms where the glass had cut him.  
“I’ll be quiet,” he mumbled.

"Thank you." Tommy brought Schlatt into Wilbur's old room, which had gone mostly untouched since he moved out. "You okay with sleeping in here?"

He nodded and sat on the bed, swaying a little even sitting down. “Thanks.”

"Of course. Good night, Schlatt." Tommy pulled the door shut behind him, and then retreated to his own room.

How many times had the world crashed down on him in this single day? He had lost count, and he was delirious- from over twenty-four hours of no sleep, from huffed smoke, from slugged drinks. He could remember everything, but also nothing, and he didn't feel like doing anything but crying. He was Tommy, the weakling, the hypocrite, the dysphoric mess, and there was nobody in his life he could respect anymore. He wanted to escape it all.

The moment his head hit his pillow, he felt himself spiraling out of control, fading consciousness mixing with dreams. It was in this delusional state that he had the brightest of bright ideas, one that he repeated like a mantra so that he knew he'd remember it in the morning.

Tommy was going to run away from it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	6. i’m off the grid, i’m through the gate

The sun hung high in the sky, and Tommy's head throbbed to the ticking of the clock on the wall. He stood in the kitchen, aimless, knowing he needed to grab himself some water and something to eat. He was completely zoned out, and couldn't be bothered to reel himself back in.

Maybe five minutes passed before he brought himself to walk across the sticky tiles, all the way to the fridge. He grabbed himself a Coke, not a water, because Coke would actually cover up his dragon's breath. He remained in front of the open fridge. Tommy was covered in a thick layer of sweat from sleep, and the surge of cool air against his skin from the fridge was welcome.

After a few moments, he heard a door upstairs open and footsteps trudged down the stairs.

“Hey, do you have any painkillers?” Schlatt asked, voice low and grumbly from just waking.

Tommy turned on his heels, not expecting to hear Schlatt's voice. He thought maybe his dad had just stayed home. He almost asked what the man was doing there, before foggy memories from the previous night formed in his mind. He had offered Schlatt to stay the night, huh?

"Um- yeah. They're in the medicine cabinet, in the bathroom. We have some Tylenol." Tommy's voice was gravelly and soft, rusted from lack of use. "Grab me two, actually."

Schlatt nodded and padded back upstairs.

Tommy sighed and leaned against the counter, holding his head in his hands. He could hear his heartbeat pulsing in his ears. It was unbearable, he wished he could escape it. ...Escape it. Just then, he remembered the promise he made to himself before he fell asleep. He wanted to run away. Immediately, he brushed it off as stupid.

When he thought about it a little longer, however, maybe it was an idea worth considering. Worth pursuing.

By the time Schlatt had come down with two small pills in hand, and Tommy downed them with his Coke, he was already contemplating all the avenues he could take. He could drive his car out of state lines, or hop a train, or maybe just see how far out of town he could walk. A thousand other possibilities unfolded when he realized he didn't have to leave alone. He could take Tubbo, and they could hightail it out of their hometown. That way, he wouldn't have to ask Phil or Eret or anybody in the goddamn world if Tubbo could move into one of the old spare bedrooms. They could just make the world their home.

In the real world, outside of Tommy's escapist fantasies, his stare was boring a hole into the countertop. He continuously ran his fingers back through his hair, airing off his hot forehead. It was like Schlatt wasn't even there for him.

The older man in question stared at him, waving a hand in front of his line of sight. “Tommy? Tommy? I said I’m gonna head home. You in there?”

"Huh?" He looked down at Schlatt, and gave a half-hearted nod. "Yeah. Is it cool if I come with? My car is kinda sorta still at your place. And I kinda sorta need it. To do things."

“Oh, right. Yeah. I just texted one of my… uh… friends, I guess. He should be here soon.” Schlatt said, pulling his Timbs on and lacing them up.

"Do I know the guy?" Tommy slipped on a pair of flip-flops.

“Uh, I kinda doubt it. He’s older than me and he went to high school in the district over.” Schlatt cracked his neck and winced as he opened the front door.

"Damn." Tommy didn't even bother locking the door behind them. If the house got robbed in the small time frame it'd take for Tommy to leave and come back, then frankly, the thief can have the shit. "I'm excited to meet your cool older friends, then."

“He’s not cool, he’s a dickhead.” Schlatt sighed, just as a black Toyota Camry pulled up in front of the house. The passenger side window rolled down and a blonde headed teenager stuck his head out of it.

“Schlaaaatt! We’re here!” He called, waving.

“Oh, Christ.” Schlatt grumbled. “He fuckin’ brought Weston?”

"Who's Weston?" Tommy raised an eyebrow at the teen, who looked to be around his age. "I don't recognize him." He strolled along beside Schlatt on his way to the car.

“Weston is… ugh. Another one of my friends.” Schlatt sighed and got into the backseat.

“Walk of shame from the Watson house, Schlatt? You finally get with Wilbur?” The older of the two, a man with a deep voice and dark brown hair, gave Schlatt a shit eating grin.

“Fuck off, man. You know I’d never do that to Weston.” Schlatt ribbed right back.

Weston gasped, holding a hand over his heart. He batted his eyelashes as a sickly sweet grin came to his face. "Aw, Schlatty-poo, you mean the world to me."

Tommy gagged. "I've never seen Schlatt flirt with anybody, and I don't wanna see it ever again."

"Is it really flirting if we're already madly in love?" Weston smirked, and turned to face forward once more.

"Schlatt, are you two- is Weston your boyfriend?" Tommy asked in all seriousness. Weston couldn't help himself and broke into cackles.

Schlatt’s face went starkly serious. “Tommy, Weston is my husband. It’s kinda fucked up you never bothered to ask.”

Tommy was caught off-guard. Schlatt was... married? He really didn't believe it, but if he was wrong on this one, he'd look like a real asshole. "Huh. Uh. Congratulations?" At that, everybody in the car began to laugh at Tommy, who groaned. "You guys are assholes!"

"So. Tommy, you're Techno's little brother, huh?" Weston looked behind him once they all settled down.

"Yeah. I'm the final Watson. And, uh, Wilbur hasn't lived with us for a while now. Me and Schlatt were hanging out, actually." Tommy stared out the window. Normally, he would be all for meeting new people and shooting the shit, but he was still so drained from the day before. He couldn't bring himself to make jabs like he usually could.

“Damn, and here I was thinking Schlatt had finally gotten laid.” The driver laughed. “I’m Ted, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.”

"Nice to meet you, Ted," Tommy nodded in the man's direction. "And uh, thanks for picking us up. Sorry for intruding, I just need to get to Schlatt's place quick," he explained.

“It’s no problem, I needed to pick up from Schlatt anyway.” Ted shrugged.

“Wait, shit, you do? My dad is home, dude, I dunno if that’s a good idea.” Schlatt objected.

“Your dad loves me, it’ll be fine.”

“He doesn’t love Weston.”

“Weston can stay in the car.”

"What?" Weston cut in. "Why don't I get to meet Mr. Schlatt? I need to ask for his blessing before I marry his son."

“You’re too fruity, he’d deck you.” Schlatt huffed a small laugh.

Tommy watched as Ted glanced in the rear view mirror a few times to look at Schlatt.  
“Are you beat up, dude?”

“Are we almost there?” Schlatt snapped.

"I'm fruity?" Weston took a gander at himself in the side-view mirror. He brushed back his bangs. "Okay, yeah, maybe a little."

"You're the whole damn produce section," Tommy mumbled.

Schlatt stifled a laugh and knocked Tommy on the shoulder.

“Alright, we’re here. Am I going in with you, Schlatt?” Ted parked the car and turned around to face the two in the back seat. “Seriously, what happened to you, man?”

Schlatt scowled. “Drop it. You can come in with me, but watch your tongue.”

The two got out of the car and went inside.

Weston found himself rolling his window up and down out of boredom. "Hey Tommy."

"Hey Weston."

"What do you do for fun?" Weston took off his seat belt, and turned fully in his seat to look over the headrest at Tommy.

"I kinda just play lots of video games. I like music, too, I like singing."

"Music, huh?" Weston quirked an eyebrow. "How do you feel about rap?"

"One of my favorite genres, actually."

"Up top, dude," Weston held out his hand. Tommy high-fived him, with a small smile. "I'm what you could call a SoundCloud rapper."

"Oh yeah?" Tommy snickered, "what's your name?"

"cJerk," Weston smiled, looking proud of himself. "You should give me a listen sometime."

"I probably will," and that wasn't a lie. Not like he had anything better to do. "So genuinely- are you and Schlatt, like, a thing?"

"Eh. Not really, we just like fucking around... can I ask you a question now?"

"Uh, go ahead?"

"So I know both of your brothers were close friends of Schlatt's, and now you're hanging out with him- so how come I've never met you? Why don't I ever see you at his functions?"

Tommy sucked air in through his teeth. "Me and parties don't have a great track record. Neither do Watsons with Schlatt. I- I dunno. He's cool, but I like keeping my distance, you know?"

"Which is exactly why he was at yours, huh?"

"Well that was an exception. He just needed out of his house for the night."

Weston gave a small "oh," and Tommy wondered if he had said too much when he saw the realization settle on the other's features.

Weston got his seat belt back on when he saw Schlatt and Ted coming back out of the house. Tommy undid his own, opening up his door and stepping out.

"Thanks again for the ride, Ted, and thanks for the weed, Schlatt. Everything good?" Tommy asked the man as one final assurance.

Schlatt gave a short nod. “You’ll be fine driving home?” He asked, concern barely hidden in his gaze.

“Always am,” Tommy gave a short salute, before he got in his own car and pulled away.

In an excellent display of driver safety, Tommy grabbed his phone while driving, and hooked up his Spotify to the car speakers. He sang along to the music under his breath, tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. It was grounding, in a way. Maybe he shouldn’t have dropped choir.

When he got home, Phil was still out, of course. The front door was still unlocked for him, and there wasn’t any evidence of intruders coming by while he was away. Tommy made his way up to his room, and stood in the middle of it for a while, zoning out once more. Once he honed his focus into his surroundings, he became aware of the clothes littering the floor, the trash lining his dresser and desk and the edge of his bed.

He didn’t need to worry about this mess anymore, not if he didn’t live in it anymore.

Before he had really given it anymore thought, he had an unused backpack pulled out from his closet and sat on his floor. He shoved it full of clothes and toiletries, any other small trinkets he’d end up needing would easily fit in his pocket. Such as his keys, lighter, charger, phone, knife. He shot Tubbo a quick text before anything else.

TommyInnit: i have an idea thats gonna sound insane but bear with me  
TommyInnit: tubbo are you listening

Tubbo: waht is it

TommyInnit: what if we ran away together  
TommyInnit: i mean really, what do we have left for us here?  
TommyInnit: its always been you and me against the world  
TommyInnit: so lets beat the world, lets take charge and go our own way

Tubbo: i think yuo need to be medicated

Tommy rolled his eyes and smiled. Funny joke, Tubbo.

TommyInnit: thats not a no

Tubbo: im not runnign away -_- we have school

TommyInnit: we will not have to worry about school if were not even here

He felt the world freeze for a moment, before he was able to work up the bravery to send his next text. Someone needed to know where he'd be.

TommyInnit: im doing this whether you come with me or not, just so you know  
TommyInnit: we can do a test drive or something. just leave for the weekend. see how it goes

He needed to sweeten the deal. Why was he so scared to do this alone?

TommyInnit: hell you can even bring ranboo

For a while, there was no response.

Tubbo: phil would call the cops

Tommy caught his bottom lip between his teeth.

TommyInnit: he wouldnt notice

Tubbo: yes he woudl

TommyInnit: no tubbo i know from fukcing experience  
TommyInnit: if it was just for the weekend? he wouldnt.

Tubbo: jsut the weekend?

TommyInnit: yeah  
TommyInnit: again. as a test run

Tubbo: idk abt longer than a wwekend but ill do it

TommyInnit: fuck yes  
TommyInnit: how soon will you be ready to leave

Tubbo: i can do tihs weekedn if you want

Tommy was itching to go now, though. Maybe he still would, and just pick up Tubbo when the time came.

TommyInnit: fantastic  
TommyInnit: i love you so much tubbo  
TommyInnit: i promise its gonna be lots of fun

Tubbo: lov you too ^_^

The bag Tommy packed had been stored away, deep in the recesses of his closet. That meant when the weekend rolled around, he was ready to go. It was a roasting Friday morning, and Phil was still at work by the time Tommy was pulling up in front of Tubbo's house. He honked his horn a few times, then sat and waited for his friend to come out, drumming his hands on the steering wheel all the while.

The door of the house swung open as Tubbo stormed out, tailed by Fundy as they threw curses back and forth.

“I’ll be back by Sunday night, I don’t see what the problem is!” Tubbo insisted, trying to get to the car. Fundy grabbed their shoulder and turned them around.

“The problem is that you’re not a fucking adult and you could get in trouble!” Fundy growled, his nails visibly digging into their shoulder.

“Ow, that hurts!” Tubbo cried, trying to pull away.

“Go back inside, Tubbo, I won’t allow this!”

“You’re not my dad!”

“Dad wouldn’t allow this either!”

“Dad wouldn’t fucking notice!”

Tommy was out of his car in a matter of moments, and for the second time in his life, found himself shoving Fundy. Hard.  
"Don't fucking touch them," he hissed, before turning to his friend. "Tubbo? Get in the car."

“You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve, Tommy.” Fundy’s fists tightened at his sides as he stared Tommy down, while Tubbo got in the car and shut the door.

"Before you throw that punch, remember that my brother's Technoblade. And he'll fuck you up." Maybe Tommy hadn't spoken to his brother in a bit, but he was still useful when it came to scaring people. He watched Fundy back down, and took the opportunity to up and leave. He hadn't fought in a bit, and wasn't exactly feeling prepared to do so now. Especially not in front of Tubbo.

Tommy reappeared behind the wheel, and was pulling away from the curb before he even buckled his seat belt. "I'm gonna kill him one of these days. Anyways, how are you?"

“Don’t kill him, he’s just stupid. I’m fine. We should go before Eret comes home from work.” Tubbo sighed, shaking their hair out so their bangs fell in front of their eyes.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" He nodded his head forward, gesturing to the path they were taking away from Tubbo's house. "So where do you wanna go? I was thinking maybe San Diego, maybe Vegas?"

“What would we even do in Vegas? We couldn’t get into any casinos or clubs.” Tubbo huffed and rolled their window down.

"So Vegas is a no, then. I dunno what all there is to do in San Diego."

“What if we went to the Grand Canyon? Isn’t that somewhere around here?”

"Oh, yeah, that's in Arizona. Not too far of a drive." Tommy couldn't think of a single person he'd rather see the Grand Canyon with.

“Have you ever been?”

"No, have you?"

“Nope.” Tubbo said, popping the p. “I hear it’s pretty big.” They looked over at him then, a toothy grin infecting their face.

"...Well no shit it's big? It's the fucking Grand Canyon," Tommy smiled with them. "I'd be pissed if it were small. I'd want my money back."

“Does it cost money to see it? That sounds like a rip-off.”

"I don't actually know. Isn't it, like, a natural monument? It should be free."

“Yeah, but you know how America is. How much money did you bring?”

"Two hundred bucks. I've been saving the cash dad gives me. I figure that should be enough, right?"

“If we want to get a hotel, absolutely not. We’ll have to sleep in the car.”

"Well, how much did you bring?"

“A hundred and eighty.”

"So we have four hundred altogether! Are you sure we can't afford two nights in a hotel? It doesn't gotta be near the canyon."

“I don’t think you know how expensive hotels are.”

"They're like fifty a night, aren't they?"

“Sure, but you’ve also got to account for gas, food, and any tickets we might need to get in places.”

"Fifty for two nights is a hundred. We'd still have three hundred for all the other shit- a hundred for food, a hundred for gas, a hundred for tickets. Or something like that."

Tubbo scrunched their nose a little. “Whatever. If we get stranded in Arizona it’s your fault.”

"We won't! What, do you wanna sleep in the car?"

“No, I’m just saying this was planned very poorly and impulsively.”

"What do you mean? I think it's gonna be fine. My car is very gas efficient, I'll have you know."

“It’s bougie, is what it is.” Tubbo huffed.

Tommy snorted. "You're bougie."

“I am not.”

"Whatever. You're just mad because this trip is gonna be super fun and it was my idea, not yours."

“I’m mad because your car smells like McDonald’s and it’s making me feel sick.” Tubbo reclined in their seat and took a long hit off their vape, then blew the clouds of vapour out the window.

"You're mad because your box mod fucking sucks," he snickered.

“My box mod doesn’t suck. You have a lot of balls for someone who still juuls.”

"Barely. I'll have you know I didn't even bring a vape with me this weekend."

“Yeah, I’d bet my life you brought your pen, though.”

"Nuh-uh," Tommy was grinning wide.

Tubbo looked over. “Seriously?”

"Nah. I brought bud, Tubbo."

They barked a laugh. “Oh my god, you actually had me going there for a second.”

"I'm Tommy. I dunno what you expected from me," he chuckled with them.

“You’re stupid is what you are.”

"Yeah, yeah. Be careful what you say. I'm the one driving," he joked.

“Mhm,” Tubbo rolled their eyes and pulled their knees up to their chest. “D’you want to put on music?”

"Yeah." He considered what he'd want to listen to- nothing sounded good. "Uh, you can pick."

“Have you ever listened to Haley Heynderickx?” Tubbo asked, reaching past their knees to grab the aux cord.

"Nope. Never heard of 'em."

“This one’s about bugs.” Tubbo put the song on and pulled their arms closer around their knees, resting their chin on top and staring out the window.

"You would listen to songs about bugs," Tommy smiled.

“What’s that s’posed to mean?” Tubbo’s brows furrowed as they looked at him.

"It means you're into... earthy shit." He looked at them. "What? Am I wrong?"

They hummed and looked back out the window. “I suppose not.”

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

Tommy listened to the song Tubbo had put on, and damn if they weren't good at sensing the vibe. He wondered if they could tell how sad he was. How much of a cry for help this whole running away thing was. For a second, Tommy opened his mouth, ready to confide in his friend- but he just shut it again. There was no need to trouble them.

"Have you eaten yet today?" he asked instead. Tubbo shook their head. "We should go get some brunch. Wanna go to a diner or something?"

“I’m not particularly hungry.” They shrugged.

"Alright, I'm just gonna stop at a gas station and get some snacks then. Funyuns and gummy worms, yeah? You want anything to drink?"

“Hm… could you get a strawberry milk if they have it?”

"Of course." Tommy spotted a gas station and flipped his turn signal on. "I'll pay. In exchange, can I get like, one hit?"

Tubbo nodded and handed their vape over. “Doesn’t suck now, does it?”

Tommy smiled. "No, it definitely still sucks." He took a hit while he parked, and quickly handed the device back.   
"Sorry, this is kinda stupid- while I'm in there, could you put something more upbeat on? This music's- it's good, but it's getting me down. And this trip is supposed to be fun."

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Tubbo nodded and fiddled with their phone again.

"No worries. Lock the doors," Tommy left.

The gas station was air conditioned, almost too cold. Tommy didn't really mind. He wandered the aisle until he found the items his friend had asked for, as well as grabbing himself a bag of Cheetos, and a bottle of Coke. While no one was looking, he pocketed a pack of gum and a candy bar or two. When he went to checkout, the cashier was none the wiser.

"Here you are," he handed Tubbo the bag as he got back in the car, set their drinks in the cup holders, and emptied his pockets of the sweets. "Pretty good bounty, huh?"

“Mm, nice.” Tubbo mumbled, taking their chips, candy, and drink. “Are you okay with me playing Never Get Used To People instead?”

Tommy sighed. "Because they're sooo upbeat... I'm fucking with you, go ahead."

“They’re pretty upbeat! You’re lucky I’m not putting on Regina Spektor with your attitude.”

"Pfahaha!" Tommy's grin spread from ear to ear. There really was just something about Tubbo- anything they said could make him laugh. Their very presence cheered him up.  
"Please, Tubbo, anything but the Two Birds."

“Oh, no, it’d be Genius Next Door.” Tubbo shot him a grin.

Tommy let out a playful groan. "That's no better. Anyways, what all did you pack?"

“Uh, clothes? Clothes and toiletries and stuff.”

Tommy chewed his lip. "That all? You didn't bring any... stuff?"

“Oh! Oh, I brought coke and xans. I didn’t realise that was what you were asking.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. "We're doing xans now? Where'd you get 'em from?"

“Oh, I forgot you had a thing with xans. Sorry, we don’t have to do them.”

Tommy swallowed. "I'll think about it." Regrettably, he was telling the truth. "Are you still stealing from Schlatt?"

“Yeah, I think he’s noticed, but he hasn’t said anything.”

Well now, Tommy knew that was a lie. Schlatt had just told him Tubbo wasn't taking from him anymore. "Hmm... can I tell you something?"

“Go on?”

"So you know my brothers both had a thing with befriending Schlatt. I- I ended up hanging out with him recently, and I don't even wanna get into what all that might mean for me. But anyways, he told me, he noticed his supply going down. And I was like, 'oh shit,' you know? Because I thought you were a deadman. But he didn't mention you, he just said that it's stopped. So, like, honestly, between best friends here- are you still getting your stuff from him? I just wanna know before I use it, you know."

Tubbo stared at him for a few moments, then they turned their gaze out the window. “If you don’t want to use it, you don’t have to.”

"Shit, man," Tommy bitterly laughed out. "Where are you buying from now?"

Tubbo took a hit from their vape, staying quiet.

"Tubbo?"

“Not your business.”

Tommy winced. Most of the people he'd known bought from Schlatt, most of the drugs he'd used- they'd all been from Schlatt. He'd never had to worry about what all might be in the shit he or his friends used. Leave it to Tommy to unearth some new anxieties less than an hour into his and Tubbo's road trip.

He let the car fall silent after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	7. like a suicide king with a knife in his crown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, this chapter includes self harm, drug overdose, and seizures. please proceed with caution.

"Alright, this place says they're forty-five a night. I think we can do that," Tommy stuck his head in through the car window to talk to Tubbo, after having gone in the motel to talk to the receptionist about pricing. "And they got a twenty-four seven pool."

The new moon meant there was minimal light coming from the sky- only nearby storefronts and streetlamps. Tommy's face was illuminated by the motel's sign, sticking out the side of the building and bright and obnoxious.

Tubbo nodded and got out of the car, grabbing their bag and following Tommy inside.  
“D’you want to swim?”

"After we get settled."

Tommy grabbed his own backpack from the back seat, as well as the plastic convenience store bag holding their snacks. He went back into the front room, where he purchased a room and got a key. He shook the thing at Tubbo with a grin and led them to their room, on the second story.

"For forty-five, this place could be a lot worse," Tommy noted, setting his bags down on the floor near the door. The room was a bit small, and had no personality with its cookie-cutter comforters, white walls, lifeless framed paintings. Tommy felt empty standing inside it.

“It feels a bit like the backrooms.” Tubbo noted, putting their bag at the foot of the bed and digging through for their swim trunks.

Tommy laughed. "You have a point there." He rifled through his things to find his own swimsuit. "You dress in the bathroom, I'll dress in here?"

“Can’t believe you don’t want to watch me undress, what kind of friend are you?” Tubbo chuckled and took their swim suit to the bathroom.

"You're sick in the head!" Tommy called after them. He made sure the curtains were drawn shut, and he quickly swapped jeans and t-shirt for a bikini. There was a reason he made Tubbo take the bathroom, he couldn't bear the thought of looking into a mirror. Maybe he really should have invested more money into buying some other swimwear, or pestered Phil into it, but the thought of swimming had filled him with dread for so long. Now that the time actually came where he sucked it up, this was all he owned that fit him anymore.

Maybe tomorrow he'd find a Walmart and buy himself some swim trunks. For now, he just had to pray nobody would be at the pool this late. He grabbed a towel from the small linen closet and wrapped himself in it, just in case.

“Can I come back out now?” Tubbo called from the bathroom.

"Yeah!"

Tubbo came out and closed the door behind them, going to the linen closet to grab a towel as well. “D’you want to get high before we swim?” They asked, slightly readjusting the hem of their South Park swim trunks.

"I like the way you think," Tommy smiled, and reached into the front pocket of his bag for a small orange bottle, his glass piece, and a lighter.

Tubbo pulled a small pencil case out of their own bag and fished out a baggie of xans. “Would it make you uncomfortable if I did these?”

"Tubbo, I've heard horror stories of people swimming on Xanax. No offense." It was Tommy's version of a 'yes,' without exposing any weakness from past wounds.

“Oh come on, I’d be fine.” Tubbo stopped themself from glaring.

"Tubbo, please don't," Tommy let his voice soften. Tubbo’s glare hardened in return, but they relented and put it away in favor of their little bag of coke.   
"What? You literally asked me if you could. Don't get all pissy with me for saying no," Tommy crossed his arms.

“I’m not pissy.” Tubbo bit back, turning away from him to form a line on the bedside table.

"Whatever. I wonder how many other people have done coke on that table." He packed his bowl with bud, and flicked his lighter. The smoke pooling in his lungs was heaven, and he huffed every last bit. He had one-hit his one-hitter, and spluttered out a cough after.

“Prob’ly lots,” Tubbo said, pinching their nostril closed and squeezing their eyes shut.

Tommy watched the powder go up into their nose, and he couldn't get his mind off how much fun he had the first time he did coke. Even if he did black out, that was mostly just because he had mixed it with alcohol, right? He was so tempted to ask if he could have a little.

But he resisted.

"You ready now?" he asked, sliding his pipe and lighter into the drawer of the bedside table.

“Mhm,” Tubbo met him with a wide grin. “D’you think they have a diving board?”

"I guess we'll see when we get out there," he shrugged, and led them outside.

The pool was located in the back of the motel, fence built high around it. There was a diving board, but it was only about a foot off the ground. Even though some windows pointed out to the feature, the curtains were shut or the lights were off for all of them. Tommy let himself drop the towel and step into the cool water, a sensation he hadn't felt since he last hung out at Dream's house.

Tubbo set their towel on a seat and went right for the diving board. “Check it,” they grinned, before jumping a few times and doing a flip into the pool.

"Wooo!" Tommy clapped wildly for them, even gave a little whistle. "I'd give that a solid seven-point-eight."

“Seven-point-eight? My god, I’ve fallen off.” Tubbo laughed a little.

"Yeah, what can I say. Too much water." Tommy's head was too swimmy to even register his use of a years-dead meme. "Dude, I haven't been in water in, like... too long."

“Me neither. We should start going to the high school’s pool more often.” Tubbo floated closer to him on their back, looking at him upside down.

"I dunno about all that," Tommy rubbed the back of his neck. "It's like... too public."

“Oh, yeah, true. Maybe we could see if someone we know has a backyard pool?” They suggested. “I think Manifold’s family has a pool and a jacuzzi, actually.”

"A jacuzzi too? Shit. Now that, my friend, is bougie. But, uh, Dream has a pool," he offered up. "Been a while since we hung out... I think at least since Fundy's party? Around that time? I should... I should text him."

“Dream’s a prick.” Tubbo huffed.

"When's the last time you've even talked to him?"

“I dunno. I just don’t like ‘m.”

"I think he gets a lot of shit," Tommy leaned back, and the surges in his vision he got from peaking made him drop his jaw. Lights from the bottom of the pool filtered through chlorinated water, projecting a blue glow on the underside of his face. "Wow. I am, like, really high right now."

Tubbo grinned and giggled. “Yeah, me too.” They clambered out of the pool and went to the diving board again, taking a deep breath to steady themself before they did a handspring into the water.

Tommy clapped for them once more. He brought his hands under the water, and tried clapping again- it didn't work. That fascinated him in this state of mind. His head fell forward, too heavy for him to hold up. "How's water 'n coke feel?"

“Fucking incredible. Feels like, uh, y’know Killua? How he moves the lighting around in his body? Feels like that.” Tubbo grinned.

Sapnap had made Tommy watch a few episodes of the show Tubbo was talking about. He never retained any of it, but he got the gist of what they were saying. His judgement was fogged. "D'you think I should try it?"

“Wait until the weed wears off. It’d be pointless to do a depressant and a stimulant at the same time.” Tubbo shrugged.

Tommy groaned. "God, I hate waiting to do things."

“You’re a very impatient person.”

"Shut up," he lazily bit back, and sunk lower and lower into the water. Eventually, he was fully submerged, and swam towards Tubbo. He grabbed onto their leg.

Tubbo yelped and kicked at him, scrambling out of the pool. “You are evil!”

Tommy resurfaced, and cackled like a madman. He kept swimming in Tubbo's direction. "Come back here, you pussy."

“No! I will kick you in the face, don’t you dare.” Tubbo warned.

"Okay? And?" He stopped where he was though, peripheral vision catching on something... odd. Light lines littering Tubbo's upper thighs. His staring was pretty obvious, in combination with the way he went silent.

“You wanna be the third Watson with a broken nose?” Tubbo noticed his staring and tried to covertly pull the legs of their trunks back down.

Tommy blinked. Everything stopped processing. "...Wait, why are you saying that?"

“Because I was talking about kicking you in the face, are you okay?” Tubbo sat on the rim of the pool again, letting their legs dip into the water.

Tommy made some sort of noncommittal grunt. "Tubbo, are you cutting?"

They stared at him, eyes wide. “No, why do you ask that?”

"I'm not blind Tubbo. Fuck, man, why are you always lying to me?" He began picking at his nails. "Like, we are friends, right? You know you can tell me things?"

“I’m not lying, I’ve never cut! Why are you making things up about me?” Tubbo insisted, their voice raising in pitch.

"I saw your fucking leg!" Tommy insisted. "I saw, I saw!"

“What about my leg?! It’s clean! You’re talking like the weed is making you hallucinate!”

Tommy rubbed his eyes. "Okay. Let me see again."

“No, I don’t want to, you’re being creepy!” Tubbo objected, scooting back a little.

Something inside of Tommy shattered. It might've been his ego, it might've been his heart.  
"What? You literally were just saying you wanted me to watch you change!" Tommy objected. "But I swear to god, I saw scars."

“That was a joke! Can you stop fucking prying into every little part of my life? I don’t owe you anything, you know!” Tubbo’s voice cracked, their fists tightening as their eyes stung.

Tommy's breath hitched. "Does Ranboo know?"

“There’s nothing to know, Tommy.” Tubbo insisted, scowling down at their friend.

"I bet..." Tommy should have cut himself off, but he was full of built-up resentment towards life itself and repressed vitriol for his friend, not to mention a blurry brain from partaking a little too much. "...I bet you and Ranboo fucking cut yourselves together. Is that a you and him thing? Is that why you won't tell me?"

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Tubbo looked at him in horror. “No, seriously, what the fuck? Why would you say that?”

Tommy's hands went to his face. He didn't know. He didn't know, he didn't fucking know. He felt sick, and his mind was too set on hurt, hurt, hurt.

He didn't bother giving them an answer, just made his way to the pool ladder and clambered out. He grabbed his towel in a rush, and stumbled back to the hotel room.

He wasn't sure if Tubbo was following or not, but just in case, he flung himself into the bathroom and locked the door behind him. It didn't take very long before he was a mess of wet hair and tears, sunk down against the wall.

His keys were just on the desk outside. How many times had he thought about crashing his car? How easy would it be to do now? He hoped he'd die on impact, he didn't want to go through the legal troubles of driving under the influence. He'd just have to try to not fuck it up.

That'd be pretty hard for him. He felt as though he fucked up most things.

Every time he hung out with somebody, he'd push them to their limit, drive them up the wall. He brought out the worst in people. He choked on a sob, let out a wail. He really was pathetic, he couldn't even run away alone and be out of everyone's ways. He had to drag his best friend along, pester them, fuck up their weekend. In fact, if he were to leave and never come back, he'd likely be doing Tubbo a favor. If only that wouldn't leave them stranded.

His nails dug deep into his skin and vigorously scratched. He was a hypocrite in the end. He was such a fucking hypocrite, he couldn't stand himself. He wanted to die. After what felt like an eternity of making sure he hurt himself as much as he could- he wasn't sure how long he was really sitting in there for- he emerged from the bathroom, all runny snot and irritated skin. He found his clothes on the bed and started dressing.

The door to the hotel unlocked and opened, Tubbo reentering with a McDonald’s bag in hand. “Oh, you look like shit.”

Tommy sniffled. "You got McDonald's?"

“Yeah.” Tubbo stood still for a moment, staring at him. They bit their lip, shuffling a little, and looked at the carpet under their flip flops. “Ranboo doesn’t know. I’m sorry I lied.”

"Don't-" he cut them off, holding up a hand, "don't apologize, Tubbo."

They stared for a moment, then nodded and sat on the bed and unpacked the food. “I got chicken nuggets and fries.”

Tommy swallowed, and glanced over at his keys, sitting there. Mocking him. He was planning on going on a little drive. Tubbo's promise of food brought him walking to the bed, though. For tonight, his munchies saved his life. No, not his munchies- his friend.

"I'm sorry," Tommy muttered, watching as Tubbo laid out the cheap delicacies. "That was really fucked up of me. I just got... mad. I don't even know."

Tubbo hesitated, then offered a weak shrug. “I kinda expect it from you.”

"Yeah." He reached out for a chicken nugget, and felt himself right back at square one. He wasn't even disappointing Tubbo anymore, his shitty behavior was just fulfilling their expectations. How fucked up was that? "I might go out for a drive before I go to bed."

“That’s a waste of gas.” Tubbo objected.

"I'll pay for it," Tommy mumbled. He knew he was being selfish. Tubbo wouldn't have to worry about the gas if Tommy's car was flattened in a ditch, though. They'd just have to worry about finding some other way home.

They frowned and took another bite of their nugget. “Are you sick of me already?”

"No. Tubbo, I could never be sick of you. I just- I thought you'd want me away for a bit. I dunno."

“That’s why I got McDonald’s. I had my time apart.”

Tommy chuckled. "God, you're clingy. That was barely any time at all."

“Well forgive me for thinking this trip was about spending time together.” Tubbo huffed.

"No, it- it is. Sorry." Tommy grabbed a few fries and chewed, while he thought about what to say next. "Sorry. I haven't... been super open with you either, I guess. I think I'm just scared of... accidentally using you again. Or something. Y'know. I feel like I hurt you enough anyways, so like... you shouldn't have to deal with hearing my shit anymore."

Tubbo’s eyes were softly trained on the sheets of the bed, picking at a loose string. “I think I was overreacting. You didn’t really hurt me that bad.”

"Tubbo, I'm a shitty person. I just use you."

They shrugged. “I don’t think you’re a shitty person. I think you’re hurting.”

"It doesn't matter if I'm hurting or not. I lash out, I hurt people, I say really shitty things. So I'm shitty."

“Okay, then I’m shitty too. Everyone’s shitty.”

"I told Wilbur I hope he dies." Tommy began listing off his misdeeds, counting on his fingers. "I don't talk to Techno because it makes me feel guilty, fuck however much he misses me. I only care about dad when he's sober. The entire fucking reason I brought you along is so that I don't kill myself," he finally admitted, both to Tubbo and himself. "It... it wasn't just about spending time with you."

Tubbo stared at him with wide eyes. For some reason, despite their expression, their eyes always looked empty. Dead.  
“You want to kill yourself?”

"Yeah, and now you're gonna fucking worry about me, so now I just feel worse!" Tommy's hands shot up and tangled in his hair. "You shouldn't have to worry about me, Tubbo. I shouldn't be so fucking weak!"

“We should do it together.”

Tommy couldn't have heard that right. He just stared at Tubbo, eyebrows furrowed and jaw slack.

“We could drive off a cliff or something. Jump off one of the buildings in LA. I could probably get Schlatt’s gun pretty easily.” Tubbo insisted further, their pupils blown wide against their irises.

Tommy swallowed, and he wasn't sure he'd ever heard a better idea in his life. His shocked expression twisted into a grin instead. "Oh thank fuck. I was worried you were gonna pity me... we should at least see the Grand Canyon first."

“We should make a bucket list.” Tubbo nodded, before their expression cracked and they started laughing, high and manic.  
“Oh my god, I thought I was gonna have to do it alone.”

"Tubbo," Tommy rubbed at his forehead, "the bucket list's a great idea. Can I get some of your coke in my system first?"

Tubbo nodded again and started rummaging around in their backpack. “D’you have any booze? They fuck you up really well together.”

"I know that, first time I did blow while drunk I totally fucking blacked out," he laughed. "Uh, I brought a few little shot bottles. Tito's, Malibu, and Fireball," Tommy was kneeling on the floor at his bag now.

“I’ll take the Tito’s.” Tubbo pulled their bag out and started forming lines on their phone. “Here,” they said, offering Tommy the first one.

Tommy handed them the miniature bottle of vodka, keeping the Fireball for himself. He would've gone with the Malibu if he were trying to enjoy himself- instead, he was just trying to get fucked up. He let out a shaky breath, preparing himself. He hadn't done this in a bit, and it was only his second time- but before he could think twice about it, he was holding a nostril shut and breathing in the coke. When he sat straight up again, he was sniffling and wiping at the excess on the tip of his nose.  
"Holy fuck, Tubbo," he smiled wide, and chased the sensation with a shot of his whisky.

Tubbo grinned back, all teeth and lips stretched too far. “Get a pen and paper, let’s work on the bucket list.” They formed a line for themself and drained the bottle, then snorted the line. Then they formed another and repeated the process, then they did it again.

Tommy found the complimentary notepad and pen offered by the motel, waiting for them on the desk. He snatched it up, and sat back down beside Tubbo. "Okay, first thing, obviously, see the Grand Canyon." He scribbled the list item down in his chicken scratch.

“Mhm. And uh, I wanna jump into the pool at the bottom of Paradise Falls.” They said, sniffing and wiping blood from their nostril.

Tommy nodded, recording that, too. When he glanced at Tubbo, the sight of the blood gave him a funny feeling in his nostril. "My nose isn't bleeding, is it?"

“Nope, you’re good.” Tubbo grinned, not noticing as the blood from their nose slipped down and stained their teeth. “What else should we put?”

"Remember how we always talked about making a band together? We should write, like, at least one song." Before Tubbo could even approve of the idea, Tommy was jotting it down.

“Mhm, mhm, and, uh…” Tubbo trailed off, staring at Tommy. “What the fuck?”

"Huh?" Tommy looked over at them and tilted his head.

Their eyes widened a bit, a drop of sweat sliding down their forehead. “Y-You- What the fuck? You’re not Fundy.”

Tommy was endlessly confused. "What about Fundy? I'll beat that fucker up."

“You…” They scooted backward, their breath shaky and quick. “What the fuck? What the fuck is happening?!” They cried, their chest heaving.

"Fuck- I dunno?" Tommy's eyes shot wide open. "Tubbo, you're okay, right? It's okay, it's just me!"

They stared at him, eyes wide and hands shaking, before their gaze went blank. They started to convulse then, their mouth hanging open and blood leaking from their nose.

Tommy grabbed at their shoulder and shook them. "Tubbo, buddy... hey, please," his voice was dripping with desperation. "Fuck, don't...."

They looked so much like Wilbur, bloody-nosed and overdosed.

He grabbed all their drugs, his pipe, he grabbed the bottles of liquor, and he brought them to the toilet where he promptly flushed them. Then he vomited, expelling his stomach of everything that was making him so happy just moments prior. He couldn't fucking take it. As soon as he was sure anything incriminating was gone, he grabbed his phone from his pocket, and dialed nine-one-one.

As he spoke to the operator, his voice came out broken. He prayed to god he was making sense- his words weren't garbled from being drunk, or being high, they were messed up from the adrenaline. And the whole time he waited for the ambulance to get there, he sat on the bed with Tubbo, holding their hand with a deadly tight grip but refusing to look at them. If he did, he might puke again.

As the ambulance’s wail drew closer in the dead of night, Tubbo’s blood stained the sheets of the bed. Red and blue lights that bled through the window painted them in a gaunt light, color draining from their face and their lips turning purple.

The EMTs were calm, orderly, and definitely tried to be comforting. As they wheeled Tubbo into the ambulance, one of them stayed with Tommy and questioned him about what had happened. Tommy answered all their questions to the best of his abilities. He knew better than to lie to the EMTs, he just begged them, please, don't call the cops. Don't take either of them away. He had their assurances.

The interrogation was a flurry that Tommy couldn't remember. And soon enough, he was standing alone, in the bedroom. Everything around him felt funny, and his body was moving on its own, no input from his mind. He gathered all of their things, including the bucket list, and chucked them in the car. He returned their room key to the front desk.

Five minutes later, he was back on the road. His intense focus made up for his lack of sobriety, as he pulled onto the highway, and coasted down the empty road at ninety miles per hour. He hoped he crashed. He hoped he didn't. He hoped Tubbo was okay. At some point, he had put on his Spotify, and listened to Tubbo's playlist that they had shared with him months ago. Never by Mag.Lo, Comfortably Numb by Pink Floyd, all of his best friend's favorite songs played the soundtrack of what very well could have been the last drive of his life.

He wasn't sure what he was going to do when he reached the Grand Canyon.

It did cost money, after all. He forked over the thirty dollars the park required for parking, and he stumbled his way through the parking lot. Soon enough, he was following winding paths, running his hand along the railings. The canyon itself came into view, with very few people present at this hour. After all, the sun was only just coming up past the rocky formations. It was everything he could have dreamed of, but it didn't feel worth it. It wasn't right without Tubbo, but it would be a beautiful place to jump.

He pulled out his phone so he could capture the moment, capture pictures. He needed to show Tubbo the pictures, and not via text, he needed to see their reactions in-person. So maybe he wouldn't jump. Maybe he'd keep his feet plastered to the ground until he saw them again. Until he could give them a proper goodbye, and maybe say goodbye to his family too. No, dying here would be much too impulsive. It'd be fitting for him, sure... but he respected his loved ones too much to put them through that.

Tommy slipped his phone back in his pocket, and loitered around for a few hours. He found himself getting lost on a few hiking trails, but never strayed too far from the parking lot. When he decided he'd had enough excitement for one morning, he found his car again, collapsed in the driver's seat, and passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow us on twt:  
> https://twitter.com/wallacenvomit  
> https://twitter.com/B4S1LB0Y
> 
> join the catalyst series discord server:  
> https://discord.gg/7RKdZUbxFd

**Author's Note:**

> follow us on twt:  
> https://twitter.com/wallacenvomit  
> https://twitter.com/B4S1LB0Y
> 
> join the catalyst series discord server:  
> https://discord.gg/7RKdZUbxFd


End file.
